Sweetwater
by XTarantismX
Summary: When Laura Harland gets the call her junkie father is dead, she's all but thrilled. Forced back to Charming, she begins to reconnect with a life she'd forgotten, and fall in love with the man she never did. Jax/OC
1. Chapter 1

1

Old Bones

Years later, Laura will think she should have seen it as a turning point when she returned to Charming. Should have known the day she arrived her life would never be the same.

The drive from San Francisco to Charming is about six and a half hours, she's been on the road about six, and her eyes are so dry she can't blink them if she wanted to. There's some old rock song on the radio, maybe Eric Clapton, and she can feel a migraine coming on from her lack of sleep. She takes the next exit off the highway into a busy side road. She knows she's close.

The sun is rising, sending dusky waves of orange across a star speckled sky. The clouds are wispy strips of white, the blue behind it deeper than any lake or any ocean. Her father never said anything worth much value, but in this moment all she can remember is sitting in the driveway, watching him fix some motorcycle with a cigar clamped between his teeth.

"Charming is a hellhole," he had said, sweat beading on his porous noes, "but no place has a bluer sky."

Laura sighs, propping her elbow on the window sill of her door, rubbing a bruise into her temple, free hand clenching and unclenchinng around the wheel. She doesn't want to think of her father, though lately he's been on her mind more often than not. He's the reason I'm here, she thinks, nothing less than scathing. The road empties and small hills rise around her as she takes the next corner too sharp. Her passenger mirror nearly hits the gaurdrail.

She bites her cheek, images of Lowell sr. stumbling through their living room in a drug induced daydream. Her brother, stealing his drugs when he passed out, sometimes to sell, sometimes for himself. It makes Laura's stomach churn, but fourtunatly it's empty, and it reminds her of her hunger. She tries to think of food, not bad memories, and her mouth waters when she remembers Lumpy's diner and his famous onion burger. Those things are works of art, almost better than Gemma's pot roast.

Gemma's pot roast. Gemma's dinners. No matter what she does every memory circles back to her goddamned childhood. She huffs, angry, but at least Gemma's family suppers were a happier occasion than anything in her home. She wonders if she still lives in that same house, with that big oval table and grey parrot who hated red nail polish. Laura recalls that time he snapped at Luanne with her big crimson acrylics. He drew blood, and the former pornstar swore off birds of any kind from that day forth.

She smiles, just a bit, and her next corner reveals a straightaway passing a big wood sign. _Welcome to Charming. Our name says it all!_ Her smile drops.

Her stomach rumbles, and when she checks the clock she sees it's much too early to be visiting her brother, so she travels down main street till she reaches Lumpy's. She can't believe it, everything looks the same. Eight years and the biggest upgrade this town has is a lower population.

Inside is pretty empty, only a few old folk and a big woman hostessing. Laura grabs a window booth and requests a cup of coffee. The seats are still red leather, though a bit more cracked now, and the bar still has coffee rings staining the faux granit. Christ, it still smells like french fry grease too.

She's drawing a smiley face in the condensation of her water glass when she hears the voice.

"Lulu? Lulu Harland is that you?!"

She winces, her shoulders crawling towards her ears at that shrill drawl she could never forget. From behind her, Angela Andrews comes prancing foward, her long tan fingers resting over her heart.

"Oh my Goodness it is! You know I didn't believe Kathy when she said it but look at you!"

Laura can't really laugh and she isn't sure what to say to that, so she just smiles instead. Somehow, the woman still has that odd southern drawl she mysteriously adapted sophomore year. It's not like they live in hick country, they don't even live in southern California. They're closer to Compton than they are Texas.

"Wow you look amazing," Angela gushes, "you do, look at that!"

 _Like I was so hideous before_ , "oh...thanks Angela."

She giggles and slides into the seat across from her, hands splaying on the table as she leans foward excitedly.

"How long has it been? Six, seven years?"

"Eight," Laura swallows, "eight wonderful years."

"Yeah," she keeps squeaking, like she's till seventeen and not in her late twenties, "yeah wow. What have you've been up to?"

"I live in San Francisco," she answers a little smugly. Angela had always been one of the naysayers, the ones who said she would never get out.

"Oh cool, the city life. What's it like? Do you live in one of those artists apartments?"

"Um," she lives in an apartment complex, across the hall from a guy with insomnia who only ever wears bath robes, "yeah."

"Well shit Lulu, that's great," someone from behind the kitchen calls Angela's name and she quickly slips from the booth, "one second."

When she's gone, Laura lets herself breath. It's not that she hates Angela, she is one of the few who actually acknowledged her in high school, it's just she could do without her. Despite the fact they were something like friends as teens, Angela had a particularly mean streak that plucked at Laura one too many times. Made fun of her brother, left her alone and scared at the few parties she had been invited. And she doesn't care for that awful nickname she stuck her with all through high school.

A different waitress delivers her the toast and eggs she ordered, and Angela doesn't come back till she almost finished. She flicks her hair, which she cut short for the first time, over her shoulder and spits idle gossip about all their old friends. Or _her_ old friends, she had been the more popular of their duo of course. Laura just tagged along on the occasional weekend she didn't want to spend alone at home or with Gemma at TM.

"Well I have to go," Laura finally interjects, fifteen minutes into Angela's sassy monologue about Caleb Declane, her old boyfriend, "I have to meet Lowell."

"Oh," Angela makes a face, the same one she made ten years ago. Upturned lip and everything.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll be sure to call you though."

"Yeah," she squeals, "and come back becuase it's so boring here in the mornings. It's fun talking to you!"

"Of course Angela, I'll see you later."

Angela kisses her on both cheeks, leaving bubblegum pink gloss on Laura's skin. She waits till she's in her car to rub furiously at her face, huffing when she looks in the rearview mirror of her car. Her eyes are bloodshot and her face is pallid, she looks likes she feels. Shit.

Finding her old house is as easy as counting to three. It's off in SAMCRO's corner, the more rugged part of town, but not quite the trailer parks yet. Most houses here are old and sideways, but not noticeably dilapidated.

It's her luck, that the Harland house is.

Her face burns red as she pulls to the side of the road, it's empty back here, no outlet. If she kept walking she'd come to a dirt turnaround before a grassy hill. If she walked down the hill there would be a creek, where she spent most of her childhood playing. It's probably all dried up by now, dusty and cracked like the sidewalk beneath her feet. She walks up her dads dirt driveway to the hoover her brother calls a house. The front yard is nothing but dirt and patchy yellow grass, the porch is creaky, with a missing step and the entire thing is covered in blue peeling paint. If she looks hard enough, she'll notice the entire structure leans faintly to the left. _I'm surprised the windows aren't boarded up._

She opens the screen door, wincing at the squak, and knocks on the door. Maybe if she's lucky, he won't answer and she can drive back to San Fran.

But Laura should know by now she's never lucky. Lowell jr. answers on her second knock. His hair is greasy, it's always been greasy, but now he's sporting a reddish brown scruff that she isn't sure makes him look any better. Definitely not worse though, which is good. He looks sober.

"Hey Lue," he grins, waving her inside. Laura steps over the door jam and looks around, breath hitching inside her throat. The house inside is in good condition, but it's...well she's not sure. It's suffocating and small. In front of her is the steep staircase to upstairs, beyond that the living room and if you keep following the hallway down, it's the bathroom and kitchen in that order. The light is low, it smells like clean linen candles and patchouli.

"Come-come take a seat," Lowell stutters, rubbing furiously at the back of his neck, "do you want anything to drink?"

"Water is fine," she answers, inching foward. The same paintings hang on the walls. Motorcycles and cars mostly, but a gruesome depiction of Jesus on the cross is hung above the couch. That painting used to give her nightmares as a kid, she thought her dad was gonna nail her up like Jesus if she did anything wrong. She shudders and takes a seat on the couch. It's tacky and plaid, giving away beneath her like all the springs are broken. They probably are.

There's three cushions, the farthest one left was her dads, Lowells was the farthest right and she notices she settled in the middle without realizing it.

At least the TV is new, so is the recliner in the corner and the wooden coffee table in front of her. She threads her fingers together as Lowrell walks out with a plastic cup of water. His hand is shaking.

"You look good," she says when he sits himself on the right. He smiles and maybe blushes a little.

"Thanks. I've been sober three weeks."

"That's good, that's really good Low."

And it's silent. She can hear the kitchen sink leaking, a drip, drip, drip on the tin. Somewhere a dog barks.

"So," she sips the water, "where's Moby?"

"Oh, he's at his friends house, but he should be getting home pretty soon. Neeta's gonna drop him off."

"Oh, good."

"Yeah."

She sets her cup down and pulls at her fingers, twisting her thumb ring round and round. He won't look at her and his jaw keeps clicking.

"So I guess since he's officially, you know, dead, you can have your share of the will."

Her head jerks up to look at him, he sniffs and wipes at his noes. Laura will never understand it, but for some reason Lowell really loved their old man. Looked up to him in a way. When he ditched them Low had been so torn up about it he didn't get out of bed for weeks. Laura on her part didn't care as much. Why give a shit about him when he never gave one about her.

"I don't want-"

"He left you the house."

Anything Laura might have been able to say stops and her jaw falls open. If she had been holding her water it probably would have slipped out of her hands.

"He what?"

"He left you the house," Lowell chuckles, "I got the bike and all his savings."

"His bike? You mean that shitty Panhead he had in the backyard for ten years?"

Lowell frowns, but he doesn't seem mad, his eyes are lit up and something inside her she left long buried warms.

"It's not shitty, it's '59 classic. If I restore it, it could be worth a lot of money," his eyes widen and he quickly backtracks, "not that I would sell it."

Laura wrinkles her noes and pokes at his side playfully, "really? What're you gonna do? Ride it?"

Lowell laughs, brushing her off, "yeah, and maybe I'll pass it down to Moby when he's old enough."

That doesn't sit quite right with her, but she chooses to keep quiet. She likes seeing her brother look good and happy, she doesn't want to ruin it. He peaks down at his hand and suddenly curses, jumping up.

"Shit! I gotta get to TM!" He brushes at his shirt and for the first time she notices it's a mechanics uniform. It's fits him well. He scrambles around, grabbing his keys from the kitchen and then pauses.

"Do you want to come? I'm sure Gemma wouldn't mind seeing you."

She thinks about it for a moment. When she first left Charming, Gemma called at least once a month. But sometime along the line her calls became less frequent before they fizzled out all together. It's been at least seven years since they spoke, eight since they saw each other. Laura thinks she might have sent the woman a postcard a few years ago when she visited New York, but that's sort of a pitiful thing when considering the fact Gemma helped raise her.

"No I'll stay here. I have to make some calls home anyway."

Lowell nods, then looks a bit sheepish as he creeps towards the door, "okay. Well um, since you're- since you're staying is it okay if you watch Moby? I was gonna take him to work but since you'll be here..."

Laura nods, eager at a chance to meet her nephew for the first time. She considers herself to be fairly good with kids, even if she isn't around them much.

"Great! I'll call you. I should be home around, three or four though. Thank you, Laura."

She smiles at her brother, "of course."

It's not long after Lowell leaves that Neeta shows up with his son. Neeta took care of Gemma's kid Jax, so she had met her once before when she was young, but never directly. Though she is sweet, Neeta spends the first ten minutes of their encounter grilling Laura in every way possible. Who she is to Moby, how long she's been away, why she's back, how long she'll be watching him. Realistically, Laura knows she's doing this because she's a good nanny, but a lot of her can't shake the fact she's a good nanny to outlaws. People like the Teller-Morrow family would never get so close to a woman with a loose mouth. Junkies like Lowell would never let another junkie watch their kid.

"Sorry baby but I gotta go," Neeta finally concludes, her eyes lingering on Moby as he plays with his race cars on the dirty lawn.

"That's fine, take a break," Laura smiles, "really, I have it from here."

"Alright, call me if you need anything, my number should be by the landline. And be careful, that boy is a real handful."

Laura brushes her off, when she first moved away, she had been forced to take up a whole bunch of odd jobs to pay for schooling. Being a nanny was one, and she was fairly good at it even when the kids weren't so well behaved. It's not in her nature to yell or lose her temper, she's a level headed woman and that's a good asset to have when taking care of kids.

Neeta drives off and Laura ventures across the dirt to her nephew, adjusting her jeans before crouching down beside him.

"Hey there kiddo," he doesn't look up from his game, "my name is Laura. I'm your Daddy's sister."

"Hi," he says shortly before standing up and running off. She watches incredulously as he goes inside without even a glance backwards. She's a little insulted, but quickly tells her self to suck it up. Getting her feelings hurt by an eight year old is a whole new level of pansy she isn't willing to reach yet.

Moby is watching cartoons on TV when she walks in, hanging upside down on the couch and not paying her any mind. She sits beside him until she can't handle the stillness anymore, and that's only about ten seconds.

"Okay Moby, you should sit up," she instructs, but he continues to ignore her. By her third time requesting, she's reaching a part of temper she hasn't seen in years.

"Moby," she snaps, turning the TV off, "are you listening to me?"

The pulls himself up and stands, making a nasty face at her, "you're not my mom I don't have to listen to you."

"Yes you do. I'm the adult and I'm supposed to be watching you."

"I don't know you," he says, "and I'm not supposed to listen to strangers."

She sighs, fingers flying up to her temples, "okay, my name is Laura. I'm from San Francisco and my favorite color is blue. What's your name?"

Moby looks skeptical, but eventually answers, "my name is Moby. I'm seven, but I'll be eight in October."

"And what's your favorite color?"

"Um...orange!"

Laura reaches out and lightly punches his shoulder, "see, now we're not strangers anymore."

Moby grins and nods, throwing his body back on the couch, "I'm hungry. Make me something to eat."

She cocks an eyebrow, "what do you say?"

"I dunno."

 _Oh boy. It's gonna be a long day._

Whatever Neeta may have done to wear the boy out must have worked though, because he doesn't do much other than watch TV and eat the PB & J she makes him. Laura tries to sit and bond but he tunes out any questions she asks, and really, she doesn't actually care about what subject he likes best at school. So Laura finds herself pacing the kitchen, then noticing the dust ontop of the fridge and the spaghetti stains on the top of the oven. Her brother keeps their minimal cleaning supplies in the same place her father did. Below the sink.

Between being a nanny and a Dominos delivery boy, Laura cleaned houses. But years prior she had cleaned her house every day. Lowell was never home and her Dad didn't care but Laura hated things being gross. She couldn't vaccume the cigar burns from the carpet, but she could wipe the sticky dried whisky from the counters. She doesn't mind having to do it again, cleaning requires little skill and keeps her mind off worse thoughts.

Before Lowell left, he said he would be back, he isn't. When she begins to worry, he calls her and let's her know he has to go to the police station to talk to Deputy Hale.

An hour after the call he walks through the door screaming.

* * *

 **Hey guys! I'm finally done with the rewrite of Devils Door, as you can see, it's now titled Sweetwater. You'll see why eventually. Though the first chapter is similar, everything after this is pretty much completely different from the old version. Except for a few key points. I'll update twice every week, and I hope you guys enjoy this revamped story.**


	2. Chapter 2

2 Upheaval

 _Spring, 1992_

 _Mom used to make sure Dad didn't hit them. She would lock them in the linen closet and used what she called her 'magic words' to make him calm down. Her magic words didn't always work, and sometimes they had to stay in closet all night. But she always came and got them, even when her eyes were so swollen she could hardly see their faces._

 _But Mom isn't here anymore. She started looking really sad last week and then one morning she didn't wake Laura up for school. Lowell did instead. He helped her get ready and told her Mom came to him while he was sleeping, said she had to go away._

 _Laura wonders, especially now, why her mom didn't say goodbye to her. In times like this, she wonders why she left without them at all._

 _Dad is screaming again, knocking the pictures off the wall and throwing things. Before, when he came home from a night out he usually just laid on the couch until someone accidentally made him mad. Now moms gone so he's just mad all the time._

 _Laura and Lowell are in the closet, Lowell is tall enough to reach the handle. He was holding her but then he pushed her away._

 _"You smell bad," he whispered. It's not her fault, the water isn't working. And at school Ms. Heather won't let her go to the bathroom alone to wash, becuase last time Laura went she left school and walked to Mrs. Teller's._

 _"It's quiet," she whispers. Lowell frowns like he's straining to listen. Their house is small though, they would know if dad was still freaking out._

 _"I'm really hungry, Low," she is. She didn't get to eat today._

 _"We can't wake him up, just try to go to sleep."_

 _She sighs and they snuggle on the floor of the closet, beneath a shelf of towels, covered in some of their moms clothes. They still smell like her. Laura loves that._

 _She can't sleep though, she tosses and turns and Lowell punches her arm to make her go still. It works for about ten minutes before she sits up._

 _"I'm hungry," she hisses, "I'm so hungry I can't sleep."_

 _Lowell doesn't say anything at first, but then he grumbles and sits up too._

 _"Okay, but you gotta stay here. I'll be right back."_

 _He's her big brother, that's what he's supposed to say, still, she worries as he opens the door and creeps down the dark hall. She tucks her knees under her chin, fingers digging into her shins but everything is so quiet. She can't hear her dad or her brother._

 _There's a crash, like something breaking, and suddenly her dad is screaming. He's screaming so loud she thinks he can crack glass. Then Lowell is screaming too, but he sounds scared, not mad, and before she knows it, she's running down the stairs, slipping and stumbling on her rickety little legs. Her dad has a big grip on lowells hair, shoving his face in a puddle of milk. Laura sees a split bowl rice crispies on the floor. Lowell was trying to make her favorite cereal._

 _She screams at her dad and pushes the side of his face, but she's only ten and he's really big._

 _Her dad leaves Lowell and grabs her by the neck of her shirt, dragging her around and slamming her on the floor, she kicks and cries but he just holds her down till it feels like her chest is gonna cave in._

 _"I was talking to your brother," he slurs, "you keep your noes out of our business."_

 _She can't say anything because she can't breath, the pressure on her chest is too great; when black spots start to bounce in her vision she starts to get really really scared._

 _She can breath again. The weight on her lungs is gone, so is the hulking greasy man who had been hovering over her. Laura lays_

 _there for a moment, she isn't sure what to do, her limbs feel like cement. Lowell must feel-_

 _Lowell!_

 _Laura gets up so fast she becomes dizzy, but she keeps running to her older brother, on his hands and knees, gagging over the milk and wiping at his face._

 _"Are you okay?" She asks, shaking his shoulder, he nods but his right eye is starting to look like how moms would._

 _Laura turns around, jaw dropping when she sees JT exit her parents room, looking tired and worn. He runs a hand down his face, pausing at his goatee before dropping his arm and sighing heavily. He catches her sight and pulls up a little smile._

 _"Hey there sweetheart," he says, taking quiet steps toward them, "you okay?"_

 _She nods. Her mom was the only one who took them to his and Gemma's for dinner, so she hasn't seen them in a while. She remembers though, that he's nicer than his wife._

 _"You sure?"_

 _"Yeah," her voice his scratchy, "thank you. Is...is he okay?"_

 _JT looks surprised for a moment, "your dad? Oh, yeah. He's just asleep."_

 _"You knocked him out."_

 _JT's eyes widen, but then he starts chuckling, "yeah. I did. How's your brother?"_

 _Lowell pulls himself to his feet, puffing out his fourteen year old chest and hiding the wince as he stands._

 _"I'm okay. What are you doing here Mr. Teller?"_

 _JT shrugs and stands too, "I thought I might come check up on you guys. You haven't come to dinner for a long time."_

 _Neither of the siblings answer to that, it's too complicated for them to explain._

 _"We're sorry," Laura says. Her mom would like that, her using manners and all._

 _"Don't be sorry, I just think my kid missed you."_

 _Laura doesn't believe that. Jax is two years older than her and a boy so they don't talk, and Lowell is two years older than him, so he doesn't play little kid games anymore. He talks with the big guys._

 _"Why don't you two come home with me," JT says suddenly, "it's cold here and your dad probably needs to sleep awhile."_

 _They ride in a car, which is weird becuase JT always rides his motorcycle. Lowell points this out._

 _"Well I had to be prepared," he says. He doesn't elaborate, and even though she's young, Laura thinks that's kind of suspicious._

 _Gemma is awake when they get there. She's in a shiny silk robe and she's holding what her mom used to call a cancer stick. Laura has never seen her without make up before, she looks a lot younger. She looks nicer._

 _Gemma calls them baby and gives Lowell frozen peas to put on his puffy eye. She gives him a kiss on the head but won't touch Laura at all._

 _"I'm gonna run you a bath," she says with puckered lips. JT follows her and she hears them whispering in the bathroom the entire time her water is running._

 _Lowell falls alseep on the couch and JT covers him with a blanket. After Laura washes, Gemma gives her boys clothes to sleep in and tucks her into a spare bed._

 _Laura is still hungry. But she's so tired and safe she doesn't even care. Besides, the next day, Gemma cooks waffles._

 _"_ It doesn't make any sense! It doesn't!"

Laura leaps from the couch and runs up to Lowell. He screams like their dad, loud and weasely. She pushes him by his shoulders and up the stairs, all while he mutters and spits and shakes his head. If she didn't know any better she'd think he's tweaking.

"You need to be quiet," she growls, "you'll wake Moby."

"No, no, nononono," it's like he doesn't even hear her, "no it doesn't make any sense. Why would Clay do that?"

"Do what? Lowell calm down."

He's pacing like a mad man, scratching at his forearm and running his hands through his hair. Laura is keeping her distance, she learned how to deal with this when she was seventeen. Some lessons never leave you.

"Killed him. Killed my old man. But no, nonono, he said he killed the wetbacks not dad. Never dad."

"Lowell-"

"Why would he do that?" Lowell is crying, his face contorted and red, "it makes no sense!"

She tries to sush him, but her fatal mistake is extending her arm too fast and her brother flinches, years of being punched around making him skittish. She doesn't blame him when his first instinct is to swing. The back of his hand hits her cheek and she stumbles, colliding with the wall and staring wide eyes at her brother. He's finally still.

"Lue I'm so- I'm so sorry. I-I-I-" he swallows, twitches, and before she can react he's running down the stairs and out the front door. She quickly regains her bearings, flying after him but it's too late. The TM truck is speeding away with no intention of stopping. Laura stands numbly on the porch, her gaze catches the toy cars on the steps and she remembers, dashing back inside.

But Moby sleeps on, oblivious. Laura is practically shaking with relief. She doesn't know this kid all that well, doesn't know him at all even, but he is family. Her family and he's only seven, she doesn't ever want him to see the shit she did. She wants him to stay young and innocent for as long as he can.

Laura doesn't feel herself walk into the kitchen, or sink into one of the small dining chairs. She folds her hands in her lap and feels only the throbbing in her cheek. Just last night she had come home from a night out with her girlfriends at work. She had been delightfully buzzed and so, so proud of the life she was finally living. Her dream job, making it on her own, no one knew who she was and she didn't ever have to deal with drugs or anything illegal.

It's funny, how some things change so quickly.

Hot and angry tears push at the back of her eyes. She presses her fingertips into them so she doesn't cry, she breaths deep till the lump in her throat subsides. She can't think about herself right now, can't throw a pity party when her brother obviously came home a wreck and is now on his way to Lodi so he can ruin his sobriety. She needs to think rationally. Rationally, she would call the cops, but she doesn't want her brother going to jail.

Rationally, she has to call Clay.

One year after JT first rescued her and Lowell from their father, he died in a motorcycle accident. Her dad had been close with him, and for weeks on end he was particularly nasty, almost as much as when her mom left. Clay took over for JT then, though he lacked the tact and compassion the other man had. Still, he saved their asses more times than she could count, and when her father disappeared he helped keep them on their feet.

Laura doesn't have Clay's number, and she isn't sure if he's at the shop. She knows she has to call Gemma, but she rather pull out teeth than do that.

Laura sucks it up, for Low, and dials the matriarch of Charming.

"Hello?"

"Hi Gemma," she winces and decides she needs to dive head first, "its Laura. Listen, I was babysitting Moby today while Lowell was being questioned by the Deputy. He just came home pretty crazy and I don't have Clay's number."

"What happened?" Gemma questions, no hesitation.

"He was freaking out, I could hardly understand what he was saying but I'm almost positive he's headed to Lodi for-"

"For a quick fix. Got it. I'll give Clay a call."

"Thank you."

The line goes dead and Laura drops her cell on the table, burying her head in hands and trying not to think about what Lowell had said. He was right, it doesnt make any sense. But she knows what SAMCRO is capable of, and in her heart of hearts she fears the truth.

Moby wakes up and is more energetic than any kid she's ever seen. He zips up and down the stairs and jumps from the couch to the table and speaks into a brown banana like it's a walkie-talkie. She isn't all that surprised when he slips and lands on it, sending mushy goo all up his shirt and across the carpet. Laura doesn't even have it in her to be mad.

"C'mon bud, time for a bath."

"No!"

"Moby-"

"No!"

And he's running away from her like she's a bat from hell, smearing banana on the wall and screaming all sorts of rude words a boy his age shouldn't know. She pinches the bridge of her noes, following him up the stairs before she pauses. Down that hall is the part of the house she hasn't dared to go in yet. She isn't sure if she can.

"Moby please come out," she calls, breath heavy, "c'mon, I'm tired. I don't want to chase you."

"Do I have to take a bath?"

Her head swings to the side and her heart stops in her chest. He's in the linen closet.

"No," she whispers, "but I'm gonna go downstairs okay?"

The door opens and Moby crawls out, tiny eyebrows furrowed up.

"Are you sad?" He asks. He seems confused, like him being unruly hasn't ever garnered this sort of reaction.

"I'm just tired," she wraps her arms around herself. That's not a lie, she hasn't slept more than two hours and all this emotional input is taking a toll.

"Okay, we can go to bed."

She isn't prepared for him reaching out and taking her hand, pulling her down the hall to the last door on the right. He flicks on the light, revealing her old bedroom to be changed from a simple lilac bedset, to a little boys playland. The walls are light blue with posters of motorcycles and race cars hung all over. His mattres is covered in motorcycle themed sheets and he has toy box filled with a few action figures and those little cars he had in the driveway.

"Wait," he hops up and down with a cute smile, "wait watch!"

He turns off the light and Laura looks up to see glow in the dark stars stuck all over. Bright enough they're like a night light.

"Wow Moby," she ruffles his hair, "you have an awesome room."

He does, Lowell never had any of this growing up, neither did she. Her most prized possession had been a Cabbage Patch Kid Opie Winston had given her after he stole her only Barbie a week previous, and used it to play fetch with his dog. She cried and sulked the entire dinner at Gemma's, and then the following seven days till she saw him again. Apparently he felt bad enough to get his mother to buy her an adequate toy.

Moby needs more toys, she makes herself remember to buy him a few before he leaves.

Moby changes into his pajamas and brushes his teeth all on his own, then comes back to his bedroom and pats his mattress.

"Can you sleep with me?"

She wouldn't sleep anywhere else even if she could.

Laura is dreaming hazy colors and sharp sounds when the knock on the front door startles her awake. She jerks, eyes trying to take in her dark surroundings. The glow-in-the-dark stars have dimmed out, she can hardly see her own arms spooning the little boy.

 _I didn't even take my shoes off_ , she snorts, rubbing her eyes. She stars to think the knock was in her dream, but then it happens again, heavy and forceful.

Fear hits her, Moby's alarm clock says one in the morning, way too late for any one respectable to be making a visit. Another knock and Moby stirs.

"Daddy?" He mumbles.

"No Moby it's me," she brushes his forehead, "go back to bed."

Laura grabs the bat from the corner of his room and shuts his door as quietly as possible. She keeps herself silent as she creeps down the stairs and prays if it's not bad men it's not the police telling her Lowell is dead.

"Who is it?" She asks as firm as she can.

"Clay."

The bat clatters to the floor as she rips open the door. She can hardly belive her eyes.

He's so much older. His once silvery blond hair is white, the lines in his face etched deep like woodwork. He has salt and pepper scruff and he's put on a few pounds.

But he stands, fists on his hips the same way he used to twelve years ago. Same clothes, same hard expression.

"Lowell," she murmurs, "is he...?"

"Alive," Clay nods and steps inside, shutting the door quietly but not moving farther into the dirty in the house.

"Thanks for calling," he nods, "any later and well..."

"He was using, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, pretty fucked up," he looks around with an unsettled expression, he can't make eye contact with her.

"I'll probably have him on house arrest at the clubhouse for a while, regular rehab doesn't seem to be stickin," he runs a hand over his spiky hair, "think you could stay a few weeks? Take care of Moby till he's back on his feet?"

Laura squeezes her abruptly numb fingers, her migraine from the morning is back full force.

"Yeah," she clears her throat, "sure."

The silence is deafening, Clay snorts, "he do that to your face?"

She hadn't been aware Lowell left a mark. It must be bad if he can see it in the dim light.

"He didn't mean to," it's a line too familiar to her, "he was upset."

"Doesn't make it right."

"No, it doesn't."

Clay clears his throat, nods, and opens the door to leave. Her hand darts out to grab him before he can.

"When he showed up," she chokes, "he was saying some pretty messed up shit Clay. Stuff about you and Lowell sr."

He groans, shaking his head before looking out at the yard.

"Did you do it?"

He doesn't answer.

"Clay?"

"Yes," he snaps, "yes I killed him. I killed him becuase he was a junkie and rat and he would have tore the club apart."

He waves his arm, catching her off guard and making her flinch.

"Why do you care anyway?" His voice has raised, "he treated you guys like shit."

Her cheeks are wet but she doesn't remember crying. Her heart hurts.

"Becuase he's my Dad."

A sharp intake of breath from Clay, but all she can think about are the years before it got bad. The memories are vague and dreamlike but hanging on. Her dad putting her hair up for school, packing her and Lowell lunch, taking them to the garage to show them around. Her lips quiver when a different image invades her mind, one from years after, her seventeenth birthday that she spent all alone till she went to Gemma's house to get away from Lowell.

Clay had left her a birthday card on the guest bed. Her very first birthday card.

"You lied about it," she hiccups, "I trusted you. _We_ trusted you."

"I'm sorry kid."

He hugs her and she weeps like a child. Grips the labels of his shirt and let's her noes run. He pats her back, stiff, like this is unfamiliar territory...she supposes it is. When she's done, Clay leaves without a word and Laura spends the night on the couch.

 _Gemma's new house is bigger than her old one, with large windows and nice leather couches. Every time Clay brings her over she feels like she's making it dirty._

 _"Thanks," Lowell tells their new savior, "you don't have to do this."_

 _"I know."_

 _Clay doesn't stick around and talk with them like JT had, but Laura thinks that's just as well becuase he's kind of scary. He glares a lot and he smokes cigars like her dad._

 _"You want anything to eat?"_

 _Lowell is about to say no out of politeness sake but Laura jumps to the oppurtunity becuase food is rare at their house and she loves Gemma's cooking._

 _"Is there left over spaghetti? Or meatloaf?"_

 _"Yeah. I'll, uh, nuke it for you guys."_

 _"Thanks Clay."_

 _"No problem kid."_


	3. Chapter 3

3

Revelations

One week turns into two weeks, and then Gemma shows up.

Moby is playing war in the living room while she pays bills and calls into the salon to ask for her last few vacation days. It's good she's never taken any, since she's using them all up now. She's sealing her envelope for rent when there's a knock on the door.

"Moby," she says, knowing exactly what he'll do, "don't answer-"

"Gamma Gemma!"

Laura enters the living room to find Gemma holding Moby, rubbing his shoulders and smiling when she tells her boy much she's missed him. Unlike like Clay, Gemma has hardly changed. A few more wrinkles, blonde streaks in her hair, but no worse for wear. The woman is still a bombshell.

"Missed you baby," she pushes him along, "why don't you go play? I gotta talk to your Auntie."

He groans but listens, Laura wishes he'd do that for her. Gemma looks up and after a pause she raises her eyebrows.

"Well? You gonna invite me in?"

"Oh," Laura backs up from the doorway, "um, yeah. Come in."

Gemma takes three steps inside, then wrinkles her noes as she looks around, shutting the door with her fingertips.

"Jesus Christ," she stresses, "why does it look like you live in 1975?"

Laura sputters, unable to say anything due to surprise and confusion. Gemma purses her lips, eyes trailing up and down the younger woman's body.

"Look at you," she says, "all grown up. Still a pussy though."

She blanches, "ex-excuse me?"

Gemma marches past her, poised despite the fact she's walking across carpet in five incbe heels. Laura follows out of habit but can't shake the lost puppy feel, it's sort of demeaning.

"I _s-s_ aid," Gemma leans against the kitchen counter, "you're still a pussy. I've met worms with more spine than you."

Laura regains her bearings, frowning at the woman and crossing her arms over her chest. She knew Gemma could be a bitch, but she had always been on her good side. Now that she's on the receiving end of the matriarchs spite, she feels a little jilted, especially because she has no idea what she did wrong.

"Oh don't look at me like that," Gemma flicks her hand, like she's waving Laura away, "I'm not that one who cut off contact for ten years."

Oh.

Nothing is more important to Gemma than family. Nothing. Laura has seen her scream and rage, sweet talk and flirt her way into making sure her family got what they wanted. When Lowell was fourteen, Laura saw her grab him by the ear and drag him to the bathroom where she forced him to wash out his mouth with soap, all becuase he said something offensive about JT. When Jax's girlfriend Tara broke up with him to leave Charming, Laura had watched her personally rip the young scholar a new asshole right there on the Teller-Morrow parking lot.

So of course she would be mad that family deserted her for almost a decade, it makes sense. But Laura never really knew _she_ was considered that family. Lowell was family, becuase he bonded with Clay. But not her. She was always the siblings on the outs.

"I sent you a postcard," she defends meekly, Gemma snorts.

"Oh yeah, New York in 2003 really told me a lot about how you were doing in San Diego."

Laura winces, "San Francisco," she sighs, "and I'm sorry, Gemma. It's just things got so hectic and I was always working. I didn't have time to talk to anyone and I figured that you had better things to worry about then waiting on a call from me."

Gemma does not soften, but she doesn't speak either.

"Really," Laura pleads, "I'm sorry."

She sighs, her mask falls and she smiles at Laura, revealing lines around her mouth. Gemma holds her arms open and envelops her in a big hug, her purse digging into Laura's side.

"I missed you sweetheart," she mumbles, pulling away just a fraction, "and trust me, I did not have better things to worry about than LauraLu getting mugged in some city."

Laura smiles, rolling her eyes, "I wasn't mugged, just lazy. So you forgive me?"

Gemma scoffs pulls away completely to look around the kitchen, picking up on of the opened bills and reading it like it's her business.

"Not even close," she says, "you have a lot to do to make up for seven years of silence."

"What?"

"You heard me," she pops her hip out, "and you can start this Saturday. Clay just got outta jail and the club is throwing a part-"

"Wait," Laura shakes her head, "what do you mean Clay just got out of jail?"

"Oh it wasn't a big deal, just some stupid shit that Unser had him locked up for. He was barley in there a few days," it's her turn to roll her eyes, "but you know how dramatic the boys are, any excuse to throw a big party."

Laura lets out a sigh of relief, unaware she cared so much, "so Clay's okay?"

"He's fine, baby, but I need you at clubhouse, help me clean up before the party."

She is instantly saying no, holding her hand up and backing away, "I don't think that's a good idea. I still have a lot to do here and I would need to find someone to watch Moby. Plus I-"

"Cut the shit," Gemma snaps, "you don't want to come becuase you're scared."

"I'm not scared, I-"

"You need to put on your big girl panties and come to clubhouse. Call Neeta to watch the kid, pay your bills tonight and get out. It's not good for you stay cooped up in here for so long."

Laura exhales, pressing her fingers to her temple and trying to think of a good excuse. Of course, she can't.

"Besides," Gemma continues, "Lowell is staying in one of the dorms while he goes through withdrawal and fixes his shit up. You can visit him."

It's the icing on the cake really, Gemma knows she can't say no now. Sneaky bitch, she thinks.

"Okay, fine. What time do I have to be there?"

"Seven," Gemma leans forward and kisses her cheek, pulling her in for one more hug, "don't be late and bring some clothes that don't make you look like a prepubescent boy."

Then she's gone, walking out of the house and kissing Moby bye as well, telling him next time she stops over, she promises to spend more time with him. Only when Laura is sure she hears the retreat of an engine, she allows herself to groan loudly. No matter what she tries to keep herself from rootting back in Charming, it seems the world is hell bent on doing the opposite.

 _There's nothing wrong with what I wear_ , she pouts before realizing she's dressed in an oversized Scooby Doo t-shirt and unflattering jeans. It's not like she wanted to wear this shit, but she had only packed for two nights in Charming when she left, and her trip to the thrift had been quick and cheap. She doesn't have much money to spend on frivolous things like clothes. Anyway, there are more important things to worry about.

She rubs her face, kicking off the counter and grabbing the windex from under the sink. She's scrubbed just about every inch of glass in this God forsaken house, and now she's about to move onto her car windows, just cause she can.

"Hey Moby," she calls, "wanna help your Auntie clean her car?"

He hops up, getting the special spray bottle she made just for him. She noticed he responds better to helping and being included in things rather than being told to stay still or be good. It took a few days for him to really get excited about helping her clean, but she did her best to make it fun and now he jumps at the oppurtunity. Even if it's only a few minutes before he stops and starts making mud with the water in his spray bottle.

As predicted, Moby helps a total of two minutes before abandoning his task to shoot at monsters with the bottle. Laura laughs, slowly forgetting her issues bit by bit until she's dropped the job entirely. She darts around the back of her car, chasing the little boy and using her damp rag to make a rat tail. She snaps it through the air and he squeals, spraying water back at her face.

"You'll never win," she cackles in a silly impression of some villain, "you're no match for me!"

Moby giggles, turning his spray bottle on himself, earlier he said it's because they're fighting in the ocean and he needs to look like he's been swimming. She's pretty sure that he just does it becuase he likes the way the mist feels on his face.

"Nuh uh," he squirts the bottle at her and she pretends to be hit, dropping to her knees and backing away from him, "I'm the winner."

She snaps the towel and he jumps, running away and spraying water all over himself and the car, holding his tongue out.

"See," he says, "Its raining, I control the weather, I'm more cooler than you."

She giggles and crouches, "ah yes Captain Moby, but I am still the winner."

When he pulls the trigger on the bottle again, nothing comes out. He frowns and quickly rushes away when she takes this oppurtunity to try and tickle him.

"Now you're all out of rain," she hisses, then giggles. Honestly she's proud of herself, she's really selling this role. Maybe she should quit being a beautician and become an actor.

"No way!" He sprints around the car with more speed than before, "you'll never win."

Laura creeps around the other side, intent on surprising him, when a high pitched shriek causes her blood to run cold.

"Moby?!"

She turns the corner and does a little yelp of her own when she sees the seven year old sitting in the ground, holding his face with his tiny little hands. Just in front of him is the Windex bottle. Shit.

Laura rushes over to him, grabbing his shoulders and kicking the cleaning agent far away, "Moby, can you talk to me? Moby baby are you okay?"

He sniffles and whimpers, but doesn't seem to be crying, he doesn't answer her though and she curses herself for asking such a stupid question. Of course he's not okay. Shit. Shit, shit.

"Okay," she can feel her hands shaking, her body is trying to panic. _No, I can't let that happen_. Laura steels herself and swiftly as possible, swoops the boy into her arms. He's really light compared to how he looks, and she is able to sprint inside the house with him in her arms. Maybe though, it's just the mass amounts of adrenaline coursing through her that make it seem so simple.

She squeezes their bodies down the narrow hall and into the tiny bathroom, she sets him on the toilet and right away flicks the shower onto a lukewarm temperature, without waiting she deposits him in the tub and pulls back on his wrists. He's openly crying now, and gagging, she hadn't noticed before but he smells strongly of bleach.

"Moby we gotta wash your face off, move your hands. Cmon baby, I know it hurts but we gotta do this."

He's sopping wet and her whole back is too, still, this hardly registers as she forces his hands away from his face and tilts his inflamed skin into the stream of water. With reckless movements she gets ahold of a washcloth and one of those bulbous rubber syringes used on babies. The ones that suck snot out of the noes. She uses it to slurp up water from the tub. She tries to be gentle, but he keeps batting her hands away and screaming at her, so with all the force she can muster, she grabs her boy and hold him tight, using her free hand to wash out his eyes. His cries make her heart constrict painfully and before she knows it, she's crying too.

"I'm sorry Moby," she trembles, turning off the shower and dabbing at his face with the washcloth, "I'm so so sorry."

He's sitting despondent in the tub, no longer fighting or screaming but just crying. He tries to rub at his eyes and she's forced to stop him each time. He can open them butthey're bloodshot and that deeply worries her.

"Are you hurting?" She asks, wiping softly at his hair line, "even just a little? Anywhere?"

"Um," he hiccups, "my noes stings. But my face doesn't hurt."

"What about your eyes?"

"They sting too."

She winces. Shit.

"Okay," she's fully made up her mind, "cmon buddy, we're taking a trip."

She speeds the whole way to St. Thomas, running two stop signs and crossing the double yellow in order to pass a slow truck. It must be a record time that she reaches the hospital. Gemma herself would be proud.

Probably not, she seethes, carrying her nephew across the parking lot as if it's his legs that are injured, considering she let a seven year old play with a methanol based cleaning agent. How stupid could she be? Letting him squirt himself in the face? Not warning him about any of the dangers, not even letting him know the difference between his spray bottle and the five others all around the house. Stupid! The type of stupid that could get him seriously injured.

In her arms, sitting in that waiting room, she notices for the first time how truley young Moby is. How small. His whole hand is about as large as her palm, his legs not even the length of her arm. His skin is soft and squishy, still layered in protective baby fat, unfamiliar to hurt. She can feel his spine under her grip, not prominent but there. He's so fragile and suddenly she can't stop thinking about that. Even his brain is little. He doesn't understand what's happening, why his Auntie was crying and why he's in a hospital now. Why his eyes hurt from the blue water. On a deeper level, he doesn't understand why his real mommy is gone or why his dad always disappears. He's just a little boy.

The nurse takes them away to a little room, where they start doing these check ups as Laura sits in the corner. Moby tells them what happened, they point bright light in his eyes. The whole ordeal lasts maybe ten minutes before the nurse smiles kindly at her.

"He's fine. His noes might burn for a little while but he's no worse for wear. You reacted well, Ms. Harland."

Moby gets a lollipop and in ten minutes he forgets about everything. He's just happy he's out of the house finally.

But Laura can't forget. She keeps running different scenarios through her mind. What if there had been more on his face? What if she didn't wash out his eyes? What if her crazy driving caused a crash or god forbid he drank the windex. It's causing a painful thumping behind her eyes. Again, she can't believe how stupid she had been. Finally, with great reluctance, Laura really lets herself face the fact that despite having a few months of nannying under her belt, she's new to this. To taking care of a child.

A child that's not hers, but scares her just as much as if he is.

"Don't be scared anymore Auntie," Moby says from his booster seat in the back, "I'm okay. Nothing hurts anymore."

Her chest fills with warmth and Laura smiles at him, pulling into their driveway and telling herself this love for him is natural and not terrifying. It's what having kids is like.

They eat grilled cheese and tomato soup at home, watching Shrek together on the couch. He laughs at the jokes and eats two whole bowls of the soup, licking his fingers when he's done. Laura asks if he wants to go to a friends house tonight and he's overjoyed by the idea. His smile makes her smile.

She blinks, and suddenly she feels nauseous.

Becuase the longer she stays here, the harder it will be to cut ties again. The harder it will be to leave.

* * *

Twenty miles away lives a man with a rather massive contrast to the young Laura Harland. However despite the insurmountable differences between them, they are doing things that are fairly similar. Each of them are raising a child, but it is an unspoken fact these children will never be friends.

AJ Weston raises his sons with love, but it's love made of tough material, scoldings and lessons about the way things are and the way things should be. Cliff will grow up hating the world and its differences.

Moby will not. Neither of the parents know this.

Weston is facing a problem, one that's become increasingly annoying. His product sales are down, the distribution of meth is more common in this area than he realized and he's taking a big hit because of it. Stockton and Lodi are already swimming in his illegal drugs, but Charming stays clean. Pristine. The white trash bikers are doing a good job protecting their home.

He needs to change that. It could make all the difference. There's an ugliness swimming just beneath the surface of Charming, one that would swallow his product up whole, if only he could get the one obstacle out of his way. The Sons of Anarchy can't stop everyone from buying meth or heroine or whatever the people feel up to. If he gets just enough people attacking the outside, just enough to make a difference, then everything else will fall into place. _He_ can handle the inside.

Weston smiles.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Routine and Regimen

The next week scrolls through remarkably fast for Laura, with Moby behaving better since his run in with the Windex. That being said, he's still very much a problem child.

In all her free time she starts looking through the attic, throwing old things out that don't belong anymore. This only lasts a few days though, her family had never been one to afford unnecessary belongings. Soon it's all in the dumpuster out front.

She never goes through her fathers room. That door stays shut.

She starts thinking dangerous thoughts once everything is cleared out. Thoughts like how easy it would be to make this her home. All her furniture in her apartment could replace the things here, new couch, new TV, new toaster. She could take down all the awful pictures on the walls, maybe redo the carpet and the place would stop smelling like a bar. Once she's in that territory though, she's quick to shut it out. She is not here to make a life, she is here to watch Moby till Lowell is better.

But her vacation days run out in a week, and they're not paid. What little food was in the house is gone, her and Moby are living off Lowells dry savings and cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches. Moby loves them but she's beginning to feel sick. Lowell needs to be better soon.

Gemma calls her almost everyday to inform her about his condition. He's locked in some room at the back of the clubhouse, sweetbutts and the occasional prospect taking care of him and making sure he doesn't die from withdrawal. Turns out he'd been using those three weeks he was 'clean,' and his body is taking the lack of heroine pretty harshly. Gemma says he's no worse for wear but Laura isn't too sure she believes that.

Gemma talks about other things too. Mundane things like trying out a new recipe for apple bread, and having it taste so bad not even Bobby will eat it. Things like how she is convinced she needs to start eating healthier because she went up a pant size, but then discovered her new dryer shrinks clothes. It reminds Laura of being a kid again, sitting at Gemma's dining table after Clay would pick them up from her house. He would teach Lowell how to box, how to defend himself against guys like their Dad, and Gemma would just chat with her. Make her food because Laura was always starving, then they would discuss the latest drama at the latest town event.

But Gemma talks about heavy things too. Things Laura knows she doesn't tell any other women. Like Otto going to prison, and the club hurting Kyle Hobart so bad April took his kids and moved states. These stories don't sit well with Laura, they mean Gemma trusts her enough to share them, but on a deeper level she knows Gemma is only sharing them as a subtle move to draw her back in. Confiding in her like they're close, making it so Laura knows too much to leave town. Making it so she'd feel guilty if she did. Laura loves Gemma, but she's not stupid, she knows exactly what kind of woman she is.

Of all the scary stories and all the crazy tales Gemma Teller-Morrow shares with her, the one about Jax and his dying crank baby is the worst.

Laura remembers what happened when Tara left. It's faint, since she was dealing with her own shit and she was more focused on that, but it's still there. She had her license by then and would often leave home to get away from a blacked out Lowell. Most of the time she stayed at a friends house, like Angela, but when it was particularly bad or when she exhausted all her resources, she went to the clubhouse. Even on the most boring of nights, when not a party was happening and not a man was drinking, Jax would get blasted out of his mind. He would drink till his swagger turned to stagger and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Then he would pick a random brunette and drag her back to his dorm. This went on for months. Till Wendy came along.

Wendy often hung out at Laura's house. Charming is small, everyone knew everyone so it made sense all the druggies knew each other too. Her brother happened to be the biggest of them all, and he had the best crank, so it wasn't uncommon for him to invite mass amounts of his friends over for days on end. Laura left during these times, but somehow became acquainted with the more popular of Lowells following. Wendy was one of them, becuase she was as hot as she was kind and everyone loved her. One evening when the car wasn't working and everything that could have gone wrong did, Laura somehow was forced to call Jax to pick her up from home. It was the first and only time she rode on the back of his bike and she'll never forget the look of utter awe and longing Wendy sent them as they left.

Not long after Tara skipped town, Wendy began showing up at the clubhouse. Then Laura left and she forgot all about Charming.

So it's surprising to her, when Gemma rants for hours about Wendy. The junkie whore who married her son and almost killed her grand baby. It makes her sad because Jax doesn't derserve something like that, the pain of a dead infant son.

But what scares her is the knowledge Gemma might try to kill Wendy, and she doesn't know what to do with that information in her head.

Laura puts all that frustration in her stomach, and turns it into to focus on Moby. Watching him and being with him is better than cleaning. It's more rewarding too, every time he smiles and tells her he loves her, her heart soars and her cheeks hurt from smiling so big.

Friday comes, she wakes on the couch like she does every morning, with an ache in her neck, then sits up and rubs her face. She showers, dresses in one of her only four outfits and stands in front of the mirror with a scowl. She used to put on make up, but lately she's realized no amount of powder can cover the bags under eyes, and no amount of blush can bring the color back to her cheeks.

She turns on the morning news and cooks breakfast, Moby wakes not long after he smells bacon and comes running down the stairs talking about all the things he dreamed about. He changes the TV to cartoons and begins to draw. He loves art, Laura is almost excited that school starts in a month, so she can see what kind of projects he does in his art class. She can put more of his pantings on the fridge. (Not that she should be around that long, after all, Lowell will get better soon.) They eat breakfast, then do the dishes together. They get in a fight becuase he doesn't listen and Laura has to send him to the corner. He apologizes and they forget.

Around four in the evening, the mother of Tyler, one of Moby's friends, stops by to pick him up for a play date. Laura's original plan was for Neeta to watch him, but she costs money and this is free.

"Okay baby," she says, checking his overnight bag one more time, "do you have everything?"

"Yep," he says, nodding furiously. He keeps casting eager glances to the car in the driveway.

"Okay, well be good. Listens to Mrs. Jacobs please, I don't want to have to come get you before the night is over."

"I promise! I'll be the best ever!"

"Good boy," she kisses the top of his head, and walks him halfway out, him insisting he's big enough to go on his own.

"Love you!" She cups her hand over her mouth, watching as he jumps in the open car door.

"Love you too!"

She waves till the Nissan is long out of sight, and then she goes back in.

Laura, in those first quiet moments alone, is suddenly very greatful for Moby. She couldn't imagine staying here in an empty house waiting for her brother, sitting in this silence would drive her nuts.

So after ten minutes of her trying and failing to watch a rerun of some old show, she jumps up to get ready for the night.

Her day clothes consist of two pairs of jeans, two pairs of cotton stretch pants, and a set of t-shirts she bought in a pack from the nearest consignment store. Plus the two outfits she packed coming here. Laura has her entire wardrobe spread out on the couch, and none of it looks appropriate. As a teen she hadn't really fit in either, less becuase girls her age didn't frequent the clubhouse, and more becuase she dressed like a boy. All the women always looked like they were dressed for a mud wrestling match.

Not that she's older, there's an odd desire in her to show everyone else she's different. She doesn't want to show up looking like sixteen year old Laura Harland, too weak to defend herself, too stupid to get good enough grades for a scholarship. Tonight will be the night she see's everyone for the first time in years, and she wants, even though she hates attention, everyone to see she's stronger now. Special.

What do you wear to look like that?

She doesn't want to wear anything sleeveless, that requires she shows her shoulders and those few times her dad used them as his personal ashtray. It gets hot in the clubhouse though, so she can't wear a long sleeves. That rules out tank tops without a cardigan, but wearing a cardigan to a SAMCRO party is like wearing a bikini to Sunday service. It's just wrong.

That leaves t-shirts, but they're all too big and not at all flattering. She rubs her temples and shakes her head, already frustrated and she hasn't even left her house.

Choosing pants is easier. Since moving she lost weight, due to both stress and the lack of food. Anything good she gives Moby and she's a picky eater anyway, that's why she was such a small kid. That rules out jeans, becuase they're baggy, and leaves only leggings. She okay with that.

Laura shakes her head, huffing and stuffing everything in her bag, she doesn't even want to go, she's only doing this becuase Gemma is making her, but no one can make her do shit. Right? She's her own person.

She drops down on the couch, crossing hers arms and glaring at the TV, this is fine. She needs alone time anyway. She can't find anything to wear and the more she thinks about showing up the more the butterflies eat away her belly.

Laura can't sit still, never been able to even when she's at her most relaxed. A night locked in the house again...impossible.

She settles on a tank top covered by a dark green flannel she usually wears to bed. It's big and baggy, but if she leaves it open it looks pretty good. She hasn't shown this much cleavage in years. She's putting on mascara when her cell rings and causes her to jump, nearly poking herself in the eye. It's Gemma of course, and she answers it with an eye roll.

"It's seven ten," the woman says, "where are you?"

"I'm just getting ready to leave," she smears on lip gloss, "don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out," Gemma snaps, "just get your skinny ass over here before I have to ask Candi with an 'i' to help me sweep the floors."

"Yes m'am," Laura sighs, snapping the prepay shut and rubbing her lips together. Figuring that's about as good as she'll get, she decides to head out.

There's already hangarounds and croweaters on the premises, just showing up makes her feel a certain nostalgia about the days past. She finds a parking space next to Gemma, figuring that's probably where she should go. She turns off the car and sits in the front seat, her stomach churning suddenly and her hands shaking. She works at her fingers and twists the rig around her thumb. What she's been burying all day is here. She doesn't want to go inside.

 _Put your big girl panties on and get in the clubhouse._

Laura winces and clutches her purse to body, if only to hold something, and begins the trek to the doors.

It's all the same, taking her back ten years to place where time ran differently. The entering lounge is small yet spacious, with several tables and chairs to the left, and the bar against the right wall. The walls are dark, a mural of the reaper above a love seat. It smells thick with smoke and motor oil, something a lot of people would probably find harsh and gross. To her, it's welcoming.

She takes a few unsure steps foward, unaware of the looks she's getting from the few people mingling inside. She picks up speed till she's entering the short and wide hall, one wall full mug shots, and she stares up. Two more hang there now, Jax and Opie, both looking a bit too used to having their picture taken by a cop.

The hall ends, revealing a room just a tad smaller than the other, several old couches backed up against the wall, and the stripper pole so old the paint is chipping. The pool table's pockets have been duct taped shut. _This is where Bobby likes to sit_ , she remembers, the hall to the left leads to the dorms, where her brother is, and the hall in front of her leads to the chapel. She's never been in there, but she remembers once when she was little, she waited outside the doors a whole hour for Clay to come out. She didn't like being inside without him.

"Taking a tour, sweetheart?"

Laura jerks around, Gemma is there in all her black laced glory. She's got dark eyeshadow on and jewarly that sparkles in the light.

"Did you guys even rearrange?" She asks, incredulous, tightening her grip on the purse strap.

"Why fix something that's not broken?" Gemma shrugs, suddenly materializing a dirty dishrag and tossing it at her, "now go wipedown the tables, and yourself a drink. You need it."

Laura quickly realizes that she only made Gemma more in control. She has croweaters running around the rooms like frantic chickens, cleaning, spraying, organizing everything in sight. She has the strong hangarounds carry boxes of liquor behind the bar, the pretties sweetbutts outside greeting anyone who shows up. At one point she and Laura are switching out the regular light bulbs above the stripper pole to red lights.

"You can't see the shit paint job this way," she winks, dusting off her hands. Then she promptly orders Laura to go help the prospect stock the bar. She softens her demand with a kiss on the cheek.

"Half Sack," the young, narrow shouldered man greets. He's pale, with soft curly hair and kind blue eyes. He's more wirey than muscular, and the way he seems unsure of his speech reminds her of Lowell.

"Half Sack?" She repeats with quirked eyebrow, washing out the sink while he shelves tequila bottles.

"Yeah," he nods and gives a sheepish smile, "I lost, uh, half my sack in Iraq."

Laura frowns, "half your...oh." She feels her face grow hot and she quickly avoids eye contact, scrubbing harder at the aluminum beneath her rag.

"Sorry," she offers. What else is she supposed to say?

"Don't be," he grins, and awkwardly leans against the counter, his smirk is lewd, "it all still works."

Her eyes widen, and she decides maybe SAMCRO is right where Half Sack belongs, even if he doesn't look like it. He proves to be nice though, helping her with some of the harder jobs even though he doesn't have to. He flirts harmlessly and uncomfortably, making her start to think he's only using her as practice for when more attractive women arrive.

It's around nine thirty when music begins playing and people really start showing up. Gemma relieves her from duty then, and takes her out front for fresh air and a beer. They sit on one of the farther picnic tables, the light from the garage dimly illuminating them. Some big, already drunk dude is starting bonfire, and the women watch that in silence.

"Thanks sweetheart," Gemma pulls a pack of Marlboros from her purse and lights up, offering one to Laura. She shakes her head.

"You quit?" Gemma asks before taking a big puff, as if mocking her.

"I did actually," Laura can feel her fingers twitching at the smell, mouth almost watering as if it's food and not a cig. It's been six years, but her willpower to resist still feels thin. The Harland family flaw, they can never quit nothing.

"Good for you," she rolls her eyes and stubs it out, putting it back in the box, "guess tonight will be a real test of willpower."

Laura nods in agreement and pulls a swig of her beer, stomach swallowing the liquor up quickly. She hadn't thought about that before, everyone will be smokeing, the smell in there alone was unbearable. She wants to scream out all her irritation, but instead takes a another drink...and promptly chokes when she hears the rumble of motors. They're close.

"Boys'll be here soon," Gemma smirks, patting Laura's back. That's practically the understatement of the year, becuase not five minutes later they're pulling in the lot, gathering cheers and hollers from the people there. The headlights cut rays of gold across the black pavement, their cutts stil visable despite the twilight shrouding them. She feels herself shudder at the sudden chill, and she knows it's not becuase fall is approaching.

"Time to go say hi," Gemma remarks, looping her arm with Laura's and not giving her an option to back out. Her heels drag but she still finds herself in front of Clay as Gemma pulls him in for a slow kiss. She looks away, locking eyes with Chibs.

"Ay lass," he grins, "thought you were never gonna show up."

She forces her lips to turn up, she likes Chibs, had liked him more than Otto and Tig. Otto had been too blunt for her tendency to sugar coat things, and Tig is just weird.

"Me either," she says, lifting her shoulder, "but it's nice to see you guys again."

"Took the words out of my mouth," Bobby chuckles, shuffling from his bike and in her direction. He opens his arms and she allows him to wrap her in a hug. He's never been fit but he's put on quite a few pounds in the last years. His stomach is round against her. Bobby ruffles her hair and she ducks away from him, daring to smile a wider.

"You'll ruin my hair," she smooths the frays down and Chibs takes his turn, pulling her in an one armed embrace.

"What hair?" He teases, "you have less than Jackie over there," he grins and hollers, catching the attention of the blonde with their back to them, "hear that Jackie-boy?! Ya look like a girl!"

He twists around, grinning and jutting his arm out at them, middle finger prominent. Chibs guffaws and hugs her shoulders tighter, she looks at the pavement so she doesn't make eye contact with anyone in white sneakers.

Chibs abandons her in favor of pinching some sashaying redheads ass, they quickly strike up a conversation and she's left alone, standing by the row of bikes and scanning the suddenly huge crowd for Clay.

She comes up empty and she feels her noes wrinkling at the thought of him and Gemma disappearing together. Ew. She takes another drink of beer, but comes up empty. She sighs, yet doesn't get a chance to throw it out.

"Hey there darlin' long time no see."

Jax is in front of her. Jax and Opie. They're huge. Opie always more so but they both tower over her. She feels crowded and instantly takes a step back. If they notice, they don't comment and instead Jax smiles in good nature, jerking his head at her bottle.

"All out?"

"Yeah," she tucks her hair behind her ear, crossing her arms over her midsection, "I uh, went a little fast."

"No problem with that," he smirks and looks back, "ain't that right Ope?"

"Nope," Opie smiles at her, "how have you been?"

All her apprehension melts away then, suddenly and warmly, like stepping into the sun after sitting in the shade. She never had to be scared of coming back, no one thought less of her, not for her junkie brother and not for her leaving. She might not be trusted again right away, but they still have her back, even if in the most arbitrary way.

This thought allows her to loosen and she shrugs at them, "I've been alright," she tries to make her voice airy and carefree, "your mother made scrub your mugshots. You guys should see them sparkle."

Jax laughs and Opie grins at her, he catches the prospect walking across the lot and waves his arm at him.

"Three beers," he says, and Laura feels herself straighten, stepping up, "no that's okay, I'm going inside anyway."

Jax hikes up a brow, "what? Don't wanna talk to us criminals anymore?"

"Nah," she lifts a shoulder and takes a step back, "I prefer talking to strippers. They're more interesting."

A few more backwards steps, and the last things she sees before she twists around are Jax's pearly whites.

* * *

 **They meet at last! Let me know if you're enjoying the revamped version! Btw, I think you'll all like the next chapter...**


	5. Chapter 5

5

Wichita

It's always been different with him, Gemma and Clay knew the shit that went on in her life, Jax didn't. As kids, when she was taken to his house, she saw him a lot less than one might think. She always arrived after he fell asleep and left too early in the morning to catch him awake. The days he was already up he was quickly out the door to go hang out with Opie. As they grew into their late teens he was busy with his girlfriend and she with saving up money to split. There's only a handful of times she had really interacted with Jax, all of which make her cheeks warm.

Laura gets a beer and leans against the bar. She doesn't talk to anyone, just observes and taps her fingers to the beat of the song, her nails tink off the glass of the bottle. She has no clue how long she stands there, three songs, another beer, when she finds her eyes drifting farther to the back hall. She feels undeniably guilty, almost enjoying herself while Lowell is locked in a back room alone. It's been two weeks, nearly three, she wonders if he's gone stir crazy yet. He hates small spaces; when they had to sit in the linen closet he always complained and got tears in his eyes because he couldn't move. Laura would talk to him until he fell asleep. She's never spoken more words to anyone.

It's probably the liquid courage in her belly, or maybe the rock song making the walls shake, certainly not her own courage that propels her forward, weaving between people towards the dorm hall. She scans the five doors, the last on the left has a sign on it that says out of order, and the lock faces out. She knows instantly who's inside. She knocks three times, unlocks it and enters.

The room is small. It smells better than the rest of the clubhouse but not by much. Inside is only a bed and dresser topped by various plates and cups. Lowell is lying on his back, hands locked over his stomach and eyes trained on the ceiling. When he sees her, he springs up.

"L-Lue," he runs his hands through his greasy hair, "Lue. What're you doing here?"

"Hi," she leaves the door cracked and looks around the tiny space. There's a minuscule room off to the side with only a toilet and thin shower, no sink.

"Gemma had me come over," she finally elaborates, "Clay got out of jail so they're throwing a party."

Lowell nods and she watches as his bottom lip tug and twitch involuntarily. He's rubbing his palms up and down his jeans.

"Oh," he chuckles, choking on the noise, "that's why it's-it's so crazy."

"Mmhm," she takes a step further in, and quickly takes a seat on the edge of his bed.

"So how are you doing?"

"I'm okay," he nods hard," I'm feeling a lot better, I, uh, I stopped throwing up, so that's good. How's Moby?"

Laura smiles, "he's great, he's crazy but he's great. He loves to color."

"Yeah he does, he'll color anything ya know, so be careful, he colored his walls and I-I had to repaint them. Once."

She nods and looks down at her lap, swallowing so she's ready. When she looks up again she doesn't let herself back down.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said you were sober."

Lowell looks away, jaw ticking. He stands suddenly and paces, running both hands through his hair. If he does that enough times it's surely going to fall out.

"I know I'm sorry. I fuck–fucked up. I just, I needed you to– I don't know. You seemed so happy when I said that and I th–thought I could control it, y'know, like ween myself off but then they found dad and–and–and-" he gulps, tendons in his neck looking like they're about to snap. He blinks several times and stares at her, stopping abruptly.

"Clay says I hit you."

"You did."

Lowell squeezes his eyes together and balls his fists, "where?" He whispers.

"My face."

He looks like he's going to cry, but instead he just falls back, shoulders hitting the wall and he slides down it till he's crumpled, but technically upright. The music grows louder and the dishes on his dresser rattle to the bass.

"I'm just like him," Lowell breathes, "just like my old man."

Laura throws her arms around herself, hating the way that sounds.

"You don't have to be," she says, "you can change, get clean."

"It isn't that simple."

She whips around, frowning, "what?"

"He raised me Laura," Lowell looks dead, he's hardly breathing, "I'm always going to be like like him."

"He raised me too," she says, "you don't see me addicted to crank."

"That's different."

"No it's not."

Lowell grunts and stands again, pacing back and forth, back and forth. Laura might go crazy just watching him.

"You know I'm right," she hates saying these things, "you have to stay clean. No more relapses. No more going back."

"It's not easy," he huffs, yanking on his greasy locks, stopping at the other end of the room. Laura stands, suddenly more angry than she should be.

"Then make it easy," she spits, "becuase next time I might not be there, and Moby is gonna be the one you hurt."

Her words hang in the air, her brother goes taunt like puppet with its strings pulled. It's still for a beat, then so quiet she can hardly hear it, he speaks.

"Don't talk to me about my son."

"I love you," she can feel her hands shaking, "and I love him too. I don't want to see anything bad happen becuase of you, Lowell."

" _Don't!"_

She jumps, leaning back as Lowell spins around and glares at her from the corner of the room.

"Don't tell me how to–to raise my son. I'm a lot of things but I would never hurt Moby."

"You're hurting him now," her voice has raised on its own, "by not being there!"

"Shut up!" He screams, and he's stalking towards her. Laura gasps, stumbling backward, arms hiding her stomach reflexively. That's here Dad liked to hit. Lowell looks like Dad.

"Shut up! You don't get to talk about not being there," his face his sweaty, or maybe those are tears, "you-you left. As soon as you could you ran and left me alone!"

He's getting so close and her heart is torn between grabbing ahold of him and never letting go, or running out the door before something bad happens. Gemma is right, she has no spine, and she slips out the door before he can reach her. She locks it and jumps back, staring in horror at the thin wood separating her and her brother.

There's a thud and a crunch, she flinches and knows what he did to it.

Laura scutters away, her world lurching around her and his words echoing in her head. _You left me alone!_ She squeezes her eyes shut and opens them, nearly running into a pair making out against the hallway wall. She darts past them, making a beeline for the bar despite the amount of people around her. None of them aware she had just fought with her brother. Nonr of them knowing about her life or her past or childhood or any of the secrets Gemma's been whispering in her ears. She feels trapped by it all, an unbearable weight on her shoulders and suddenly Laura can't breath.

 _I need...I need to drink._

The sweetbutt behind the bar is younger than her, with huge tits and pointy canine teeth. She pours four shots of tequila at Laura's request, and sets out the salt and lime. No one is really sitting at the bar, just standing by it or leaning against it. She is the only one. She downs her drinks, stomach protesting with yucky turns, and then asks for another two.

Sometimes soon after, life stops feeling like life and the world is spinning. She feels more inclinded to talk to those who attempt to strike up conversation with her and she's always friendly, but never goes beyond pleasantries. People eventually stop talking to her all together, maybe because she's not interesting, but probably becuase she's slurring too much.

Laura is a small woman, and six shots of tequila is plenty to push her near wasted. Between the seventh and eight she is trashed.

She cradles her head in her hands, the smell of cigarettes making her body tingly. She needs fresh air for many reasons, but she probably couldn't get off this stool if her life depended on it. Voices pile over each other like a raucous band; it's giving her a headache. Grabbing a beer, probably not hers but full anyway, she steels herself and hops off the stool. Her knees tremble and she lurches to the right, shoulder colliding with the bar. A man behind her laughs.

Standing up she tells herself she's been in worse states, and that she needs to handle her liquor in a place like this. So many years away and she's gone soft. _One foot in front of the other, Harland._

Outside is much better, the air is crisp and fresh, clearing her head just a tad, the smell of a bonfire is better than something else, and there's less outrageous noise. Down to the left of the doors a fighting ring had been set up and she has half a thinks to throw herself in, to the wolves. In the hospital she'll have free food and no worries. Let Lowell rot from drugs, let Neeta take Moby. She stumbles foward, gripping her bottle and heading for the picnic table she sat at with Gemma earlier. It's empty, clean, but she's aware of passing Clay on the way there. Clay and the boys. She focuses on walking as straight as possible. Sitting down is the real challange.

As she finishes her beer, colors begin to melt into each other, her fingers grip the plastic below her, she stares at the meeting outside. She can't hear them, but she can see Tig's mouth moving. Then Jax's, then he waves, she lazily looks over to see a brunette in a hoody standing not too far from her.

If Laura had been sober, she would have recognized that women as Tara. If Laura had been sober, she would have seen Tara and Jax speak and share a kiss. Had she been sober, Laura would have noticed the sudden and quick fight before Tara walked off and Jax stood alone.

But she is not, and so she doesn't.

She stares at the stars instead, drinking in the constellations. No place has a prettier sky...

"Laura?"

Her reflexes are delayed severely, she doesn't even jump but she is startled. She straightens her neck, blinking a few times until her brain registers it is in fact Jax standing in front of the picnic table.

"Hi," she says. It comes out montone and quiet.

Jax smirks and jerks his head at the table, "mind if I take a seat."

"Go for it."

She scoots over on the table to make room, but instead loses her balance and falls to the side, catching herself on her elbow. Jax reaches out to catch her in case.

"Woah there darlin," he chuckles as she tries and fails to right herself, "take it easy."

She grunts in response and Jax drops his elbows to his knees, staring at her with something like a bemused expression.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Um," she shrugs, "enough to do the trick."

He chuckles, "yeah? How do you feel?"

"Like the trick is done."

Jax laughs, more suprised than anything, and she almost, _almost_ joins in. She can't get her body to do what she wants it to though, so instead she just gives a languid smile.

"I can tell," Jax leans back momentarily, making her vertigo go wild, and pulls out a pack from his jean pocket. He lights one up and her noes itches.

"Can I bum one?" Her traitorous mouth asks. She won't take it back.

Jax just grins around the smoke poking from his lips, "nope. Ma told me you quit earlier, don't want you blowing it now 'cause you're shitfaced."

"I'm not shitfaced," she snorts, "and since when have you listened to your mother?"

Jax laughs again, "you're right," and then he winks and her stomach hops for a whole different reason, "but this is for a good cause."

Laura rolls her eyes and they sit quietly. It's always been this way, it's why she favored his company out of Donna's or her other girlfriends like Angela. All of them understood she didn't talk much, but he was the only one who didn't feel the need to talk for her. Fill her silence with his words. She looks over and smiles at him. He smiles back.

Some guy gets the shit beat out of him in the ring after two rounds, then Jax chuckles quietly.

"I don't think I've seen you this drunk since that time with Donna and Ope."

Her cheeks light up red. She remembers that night vividly, despite that being her first time belligerently intoxicated. It had been the same night she was forced to call Jax for a ride away from home. He took her back to Clay's where he and Ope and their respective girlfriends were working on a bottle of fireball whisky. She left to sleep in the spare, but Donna went in and dragged her out, asking her to join them.

It was the worst maybe best night of her life.

"You threw up before me," she says in defense, "so don't get too cocky."

Jax holds his hands up in surrender, flicking away the butt of his cig.

"First and only time darlin' that sweet shit tore me up."

She snorts, "I couldn't chew cinnamon gum for years after that."

It had been the only time she really hung out with them, the only time she felt like an actual teenager and it's one of her most sacred memories. Just talking about it puts her in a better mood despite everything that's happened.

Laura adjusts herself again, and her mind reminds her quickly just how drunk she still is, and she promptly drops her head in her hands to stop the spinning.

"Maybe you shouldn't drive tonight," he says. She groans and peeks at him through her fingers. She cannot stay the night here.

"Give me a ride home?"

Jax chuckles, "I would but I've been drinking too, I don't think I couldn't drive a car let alone a bike right now."

She looks out at the crowd, noting it's smaller, but roudier. She knows with instinctive positivity that none of the Sons are sober enough to give her a ride home.

"Relax darlin,' you can stay in one of the dorm roo-"

"No."

Jax raises his eyebrows questioningly.

"Lowell's back there."

Jax shifts, his easy going expression turning more serious as the silence beats on.

"There a reason you're drinkin' so much darlin?"

Laura's chest takes in a sharp breath and her mouth feels like sandpaper. She speaks, uncharacteristicly blunt, "we got in a fight. It was pretty bad."

"He didn't do anything did he?"

She wonders if Clay told him about the small bruise her brother left, "no, no...we just screamed at each other," she shakes her head, "I don't understand how he can just not stop. He's gotten so close, and he has a kid. Why does he keep doing that shit to himself?"

Jax laughs, but there's no humor in it, "I know what you mean."

Laura is thinking he couldn't possibly understand, but then something rings a bell.

"Oh right," she nods, "you and Wendy."

Jax makes a face and doesn't comment, showing his obvious distaste about the subject. Still, she knows she has to say something.

"Sorry about your son by the way," she twists her thumb ring, "but it's good to hear they're saying he'll be able to go home."

Jax lights up, but something still lingers in his expression that's all to familiar to her.

"Yeah," he says, "it's great. He's a strong kid."

The crowd outside as shrunken considerably, and she wonders just how long she's been out here. Her eyelids are beginning to feel heavy, and the fighting ring is empty, the bonfire crackles softly.

She feels like she's falling, and her eyes snap open to see she is. Laura jerks back, almost tumbling off the table, only for Jax to reach out and hold her by her shoulders. She had almost fallen asleep, and then died doing so.

"Alright darlin," he snickers, "time to get you inside."

He helps her step off the table, which is good becuase it's less stepping and more falling. He guides her for a moment, with his hand on her back, she doesn't want him touching her though, and she pushes it away. She needs time yet. Still, he protectively guides her into the clubhouse, where the music is quieter and people are having outright sex on the pool table. He reaches one of the dorm rooms and knocks. When there's no response, Laura opens the door to go inside.

"What the fuck!"

It's Tig, or at least, she's pretty sure it's Tig, who has some girl handcuffed to the bed, spread eagle and moaning, for what she can somsidering she's been gagged by _something_. More flesh than she's ever seen in her life bombards her vision as Tig catches them in mid act, and scrambles about, trying to find something to hide his swinging dick. Laura stumbles back, clapping her hands over her eyes and trying not to scream. Jax is cackling, reaching around her to shut the door, steering her away from the scene of the crime.

"Oh my God," she mumbles, "oh my God."

Laura spins around to look at Jax,

much closer than before, "oh my God."

He laughs again, instead pulling them to the door farthest down the hall on the right.

"You can stay in my room," Jax inputs. She stops thinking of Tig's dick and looks over with wide eyes.

"I know it empty," he smirks, "and it's the biggest."

The door pops open and he walks in, leaving her in the hall to ask, "but where will you sleep?"

"On the floor if that's okay."

Laura is so tired she doesn't protest, and instead steps inside, quietly shutting the door behind her. He's right, his room is much bigger than Lowells, with a bigger bath and counter on the wall acting as a make shift kitchen. It's cluttered, but not really dirty persay. Posters of naked women and motorcycles adorn the walls, something she usually she wouldn't care about but now it only serves as reminder of Tig and his tied up woman.

Laura shudders, dropping onto the bed, "I just saw his..."

Jax chuckles, shaking his head, "don't remind me."

She groans and falls back, melting into the bed, sighing happily at the feel of something that's an actual mattress.

"This is nice," she says snuggling into the pillows, "nice bed."

He pulls out one of the pillows from beneath her head, causing her to fall back and glare at him.

"I think it's broken," he grins, hanging his cutt on the back of his desk chair, "can I have a blanket?"

She tosses the top quit onto the floor, rolling to her side to watch him lay down, pulling the blanket up to his waist and tucking his hands under his arms. He looks very worn suddenly, worn and tired and there's an aching sadness swimming around in his eyes. In the softness here, easing her sore body and melancholy mind, her thoughts drift back to Lowell.

"Do you think Wendy is really gonna stay sober?"

She asks him, substituting one name for another becuase she fears what his answer will be.

"I think so," his voice gravelly, rough, "she's staying in a halfway house now."

"Do you think she'll be a good mom?"

When he doesn't answer right away she fears she overstepped their invisible boundaries, and she rolls quickly over to her back.

"Nevermind I was just-"

"You can't compare Lowell to Wendy," he answers, not unkindly, "they're too different.

Wendy is..."

"Better," she finishes, "I remember."

Jax sits up on his elbows, and Laura can feel the emotions from earlier pushing their way back in, breaking through her last drunken walls and making her breath tight.

"I'm not ready to be a mom," she pleads, "I don't know the first thing about raising a kid."

"You know more than me."

Their eyes lock, and for the first time each of them finds someone who understands, who really gets it. Their situations are different in so many ways but at the center of them, they're the same, and with one look at the man on this floor, Laura is sure he is thinking the same thing as her. _What are the odds? Jax Teller and I gotta raise some kids._

"So what do we do now?"

Jax purses his lips and falls back to his pillow, never breaking eye contact.

"We be there for them," he throws his arm over his eyes, "and we figure the rest out tomorrow."

* * *

Jax is still sleeping when she creeps out of the room, her stomach gurgling with the hangover brought on by last night. Her head is pounding, and she shuffles into the bar room with her eyes half shut.

It really is a mess out here, all her cleaning last night practically shit on. Chairs and tables are tipped over, drinks and cups scattered everywhere, bodies lying face down or in compromising positions. Laura sighs and props herself against the bar, someone is making coffee and it's mouthwatering. She searches through her purse, making sure she didn't lose anything in her stupidity of last night, but looks up at the sound of footsteps. A bruenette, curvaceous in all the right places, face plain but pretty, is walking briskly from the kitchen. Her hands reach up to her eyes, but when she sees Laura, she jumps, yelping.

"Jesus," she gasps, "I'm sorry, you just scared me."

Laura looks closer, eyebrows flying up when she recognizes the woman.

"Tara?"

Tara sniffs, wiping at her face in a rush. She's dressed in scrubs, as if getting ready to go to the hospital. Though Laura can't imagine why.

"Hi," she offers a shakey smile, "Laura right?"

"Yeah, I thought-"

"I really have to get going," Tara hiccups, "but it was nice to see you again."

She pinches her noes, then hurriedly begins tying her hair back in her haste to get out of the clubhouse. Laura can't help but feel confused, not only why Tara is back, but here of all places. And crying.

"Well, that was anticlimactic."

Laura looks over to see Gemma sashay out out the kitchen, two cups of coffee in each hand. Laura gets a good idea why Tara was crying.

"Where were you last night?" The matriarch continues, as if what just happened doesn't call for explanation, "Clay says he never saw you."

"Well after you dragged him away there wasn't much else for me to do. I stayed here most of the time."

"Right," she puckers her lips, handing the steaming mug to Laura, "prospect says you looked pretty trashed. You didn't try to drive home last night did you?"

"I slept in one of the dorms," she says, thinking it best to leave out it was Jax's dorm. Just a good idea. Gemma nods, eyes surveying the wreckage in the clubhouse before settling her body adjacent to Laura's.

"I was hoping you could help me with the mess this morning. You don't gotta do too much, the croweaters take care of most of it. But I could really use another set of hands."

"Sure Gemma."

"So, did you talk to that brother of yours last night?"

"Yeah, he was pretty off his shit," Laura looks down at the liquid in her cup, "we fought some but I left before it got too bad."

Gemma hums, "he's lost right now, misses his kid," her eyes slide over to Laura, "he's gonna need support when he's out, y'know, otherwise he fall into the same shit. I'm not saying you-"

"Save the lecture," Laura sighs, "I made up my mind last night."

Gemma is a lot of things, but a good actresses isn't one of them, at least, not when she's taken by surprise. She sets her cups down, pretending to pick something from Laura's hair to keep her lips from twitching up.

"What do you mean?" She asks.

If she says the words, she knows that will make them real, and Laura struggles with opening her mouth. There's something final about what she has to say. It's going to end an entire chapter of her life, put to death every hope she had for San Francisco.

"I'm moving back," she breaths, "I'll probably live with Lowell for a while, then move out. He said dad left the house for me in the will, but I don't want to buy that place."

Gemma smiles until she shows teeth, then, as if to contain a cry of joy, she takes a big drink of coffee.

"Babydoll," she can't help pulling Laura into a hug, "that's great. Anything you need, I promise to help you out, the club too."

 _I know. But I don't think there's anything you can do this time._

* * *

 **Sorry if there's any problems with this update, I accidentally posted it without half the chapter** _._


	6. Chapter 6

6

Homecoming

Her first order of business is calling in a U-Haul truck to carry her furniture, then it's getting rid of all Lowell's old shit. The clubhouse took his couch, and she sends the crappy box TV to the dump. Laura probably would have needed to pay U-Haul for double time, but the first thing Gemma did with the news was tell everyone they knew. Opie said she could use his truck to haul her things, as long as she remembered how to drive manual.

She does, of course, but it's been a while and she decides not to tell him that. The Monday after Clay's homecoming party, Laura wakes at two in the morning and drives a slumbering Moby over to Opies house. Donna offered to watch him for the two days Laura would be busy. She said no at first, but Donna is almost as insistent as Gemma, and Laura gives way.

"And no money," the small woman had said, "really, you're a friend."

But Gemma told her about the time Donna's card was declined, so when she drops Moby off, the small boy passing out on the couch, she leaves a fifty under his hand as thanks.

She supposes it's fitting that it's raining buckets when she drives into the city six hours later. The sky is practically black and the thunder booms so loud it drowns out her radio. Laura's always loved rain, but something about this storm is more foreboding than anything.

She quits the salon first, and almost instantly gets an earful from her boss because she milked the shit out of her vacation days for the past three weeks. The manager throws a bottle of nail polish at her head as she tries to leave, which is well deserved but also way off target. Probably for the best, Lin has an arm on her.

She's never been more grateful for a month to month lease, and her discussion with the superintendent goes much smoother than the discussion at her job. They work everything out all while she is able to pack her things in boxes. She realizes she doesn't have much, not other than clothes and dishes. All the pictures and knickknacks to her name fit in a single box. She's done packing before the workers arrive, and then she's helping them carry a couch down three flights of stairs and through the pouring rain.

Opie, thankfully, had a tarp in the back of the of his truck, and her crazy neighbor wasn't outside to heckle her either. She leaves San Fransisco for the last time by sundown, and it's still raining.

It doesn't take long to move in, and she's returning Opies truck by the next day. Donna seems as equally tired as she, and Laura feels guilty for leaving her without a _How to Handle Moby_ Manual. Donna doesn't mention the money, which is good.

"You should stop by again," she says, "Kenny and Moby get along great, and it's nice to talk to a woman my age you know."

It's unsaid, the part about 'a woman my age who also deals with club shit,' but Laura knows exactly what she means.

"Sure," Laura smiles, "what's your number?"

Donna had always been nice to her in high school, when she didn't need to be especially. More than a few times she gave her a ride home when she saw her walking alone, or offered to be her partner in gym when no one else would. The best part had been that Laura could tell she did those things becuase she wanted to, not because of her shared connection with Opie.

"Don't be a stranger!" Donna calls as Laura and Moby walk off.

The little boy has a hay day with his new house, playing well into the evening and bouncing around. She doesn't have the balls to tackle her fathers room yet, and it would be wrong to kick Lowell from his own bedroom, so her mattress sits awkwardly in the hall. Moby uses it as a fortress while she gets the TV set up.

"Daddy's gonna be so funny when he sees this," he says, poking his head out to look at her, "he wanted a skinny TV like that, but he said he had to wait but now he doesn't have to wait no more!"

Laura chuckles, and he ducks back under the bed, crawling through to the kitchen where all his toys are shoved.

"Is that your TV Auntie?" He yells unnecessarily loud.

"Sure is," she growls, trying to plug in the HDMI cord to the right place. Damn thing isn't working.

"Wow!" He goes crawling back through till he's right next to her, "you must have a lot of money huh?"

 _No, I just don't spend my money on drugs._

"I bet that was like, a hundred dollars!" He peers st the cables beside her.

"Three hundred dollars," she says, finally finding the port. Cartoons flicker to life and Moby squeals in delight.

"Wow wow wow!" He's jumping around, "that's so cool!"

Laura sighs, grinning at her job well done and begins to clean up, ruffling the little boys hair, "why don't you find some batteries to put in the remote?" She asks. Instantly he pouts.

"No I wanna watch Transformers."

"Moby please-"

"No!"

She hasn't slept in two days, and her patience is about as thin as paper.

"Fine," she snaps, "go sit in the corner. Bad kids don't get to watch TV."

He screams and whines, suddenly melting into sobs. His cries are hideous on her ears, and she's picking him up by his arms, trying to push and drag him to the corner as he pulls that dead weight shit on her.

"No I don't wanna!" He splutters, "no!"

"You need to listen to me Moby, if you can't listen you sit in the corner."

"But I don't want to!"

She drops him there, throwing her hands up in defeat. She kicks one of his stuffed animals out of her way as she angrily begins collecting packing peanuts from the floor. Everything is a goddamn mess. Her emotions, her house, her life. If only she could scrub her problems away like she does with the stains on the carpet.

Moby's tears suddenly stop, it's so abrupt that she pauses what she's doing and turns around to see him staring at the door. Her eyes flick to the wood just as another knock sounds.

Great, someone probably heard Moby and now they think she's beating the kid. Laura huffs and walks over, opening the door to not either of the neighbors. Not that's she's met the neighbors, she just knows the woman in the shit green pantsuit can't be one of them.

"Hi," she says with an odd little smirk, "are you Laureen Harland?"

"Laura," she corrects automatically, instantly uncomfortable with this woman. The only people who know her full name are her family and maybe Gemma, "who are you?"

"I'm Agent June Stahl. ATF. May I come in?"

She can't exactly say no, so she just steps inside, willing herself not be embarrassed by the current state of her home.

"Moby," she says crouching down and wiping softly at his tears. He's not a shy boy, but now he's clinging to her arm, frightened eyes starig at the strange woman looming over them.

"Go upstairs and play with your toys," she asks, "I gotta talk to her for a second."

"Okay," he mumbles, sprinting up the steps without a second word. She sighs in relief, the last thing she wanted was another fight, especially in front of a fed.

"Very sweet," Stahl comments, "you seem like you're good with kids."

"I try to be. Do you, um, want to sit down?"

"Sure," Stahl is about grinning now, "lead the way."

She takes her to the kitchen, probably the least wrecked at the moment, and lets her take a seat at the tiny dining table. Laura sits once she has, still wary of the woman's presence.

"I understand this isn't your house," Stahl says, "your brother owns it, is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"But your brothers not here, is he? He hasn't been in here in quite a while."

And just like that all her guards are up and she's dropping her need for pleasentries.

"No, he hasn't. What are you doing here?"

"Well," Stahl has that smirk again, and she sets her wrinkly hands on the table, "I just wanted to ask you some questions concerning your brother and your father. And, well, their unfortunate relation to SAMCRO."

Laura leans back in her seat, eyes narrowing, "they both worked at Teller-Morrow as mechanics. That's about it."

"Really? Then why is your daddy dead and brother missing?"

Laura tries hard not to scowl, "my father was troubled and Lowell is going through detox."

"That's right," Stahl says merrily, like she's discussing the weather, "both of them were heavily addicted to meth and heroin." The sympathetic smile she's plastered onto her face is anything but, "that must have been hard, growing up in that kind of environment."

"Nothing can change it now," Laura snaps, "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Oh," Stahl leans foward, "but it has to do with everything. You see, SAMCRO has everyone fooled, including your big brother, that Lowell Sr. just up and left twenty years ago. Left and probably OD'd becuase that what junkies do. Right? But now we know he didn't. He was killed. Murdered and buried on the side of the highway. Laura, how does that make you feel?"

"It doesn't. You said it yourself, he was a junkie. Not much to be sad over."

"Now I don't belive that. He was still your father, and I think you and I both know what happened to him, don't we? From what I hear, Clay Morrow raised you, it must be tearing you up to know that he put two bullets-"

"Stop it," Laura hisses, eyes suddenly burning, she quickly locks those emotions away and shakes her head, "I'm not exactly sure where you got the idea that Clay would kill my father, let alone anyone, but I can tell you that you're way wrong. My father was troubled but he was a friend." Laura breaths in deep, "and Clay is just an old guy who likes motorcycles. Everyone in SAMCRO is, that's why they formed a club. They aren't murderers."

Stahl sits there, stunned into silence, appearing amused. She doesn't speak right away, and instead just shakes her head.

"You're a good lier," she chuckles, "if I didn't know what I do, I might believe you."

"I'm good becuase I'm not lying. Now if we're done here, I'm going to get back to work."

Stahl smirks, "yeah, looks like you have quite the job cut out for you, moving in and all."

The silence between them is heavy, fueled only by their contemptuous stares. Stahl tilts her head like a curious child.

"Word has it the club threw a party for Clay Morrow last week. Any special reason why?"

Laura fights the urge to cross her arms, knowing it will only make her look more defensive.

"He got out of jail. Why are you asking questions you already know the answers to?"

Stahl chuckles, gaze roaming around the kitchen with thinly veiled disgust. It takes a lot to make Laura angry, but this woman seems to know every button to press.

"Curiosity I guess," Stahls eyes flick back to her, less haughty. Now they're dangerous; black and beady like a vulture.

"What happened to your mother?"

Laura can't mask the surprise, because of all questions she had expected, it wasn't that.

"She left, around when I was nine."

"Is she still alive?" She asks.

"I wouldn't know, I have been in contact with her since then."

"Unfortunate."

"Guess so. Why do you ask?"

"Oh," Stahl lifts a careless shoulder, "I was just curious, seeing how your father was murdered by the hands of SAMCRO, I wanted to see if she shared the same fate."

"They didn't. Dad OD'd. Like I told you, SAMCRO is innocent."

Stahl clenches her jaw, nostrils flaring just the slightest. If Laura hadn't learned at a young age to look for the little signs of anger, she might never have noticed.

"And Opie Winston?" Stahl hisses. "He was in Stockton for five years on Arson charges, becuase he was innocent? Becuase he just likes motorcycles?"

Laura urges to keep herself calm, her instinct says Stahl isn't used to meeting someone with the same demeanor. Her technique is just getting a rise out of someone till they admit something. Not this time.

"Well I never said they couldn't have their own hobbies," Laura waves a flippant hand, "Clay likes cigars, Piney likes John Wayne, and Opie likes fireworks. He's always been a bit of a pyro."

Stahl stands suddenly, a jerky and angry movement. Laura hides her smile by biting her cheek. What a spoiled brat, losing her temper when she can't intimidate her victim into submission.

"Right," she snaps, "I need to be getting back to the station."

Stahl stands for a moment, and Laura watches her take a deep breath, blinking, once, twice, till her arrogant facade slips delicately back in place.

"No need to show me out," she smirks, "I can figure it out."

She turns and begins to make her leave, but Laura follows her anyway, wary and ever mindful of Moby upstairs. At the door, Stahl pauses and looks over her shoulder.

"I gotta say, I don't see the family resemblance. Think maybe you're the milkman's?"

"Wouldn't that be a treat," Laura deadpans, grabbing the door. This woman has some nerve.

"It would," Stahl drawls, "that's not the case though. You really are just the black sheep of the family, except for, of course, your felony when you were fifteen. Now why would a straight and nowrrow like you have possession of heroin?"

Laura feels her heart rate spike at that admission, but she keeps her cool exterior, "sounded like a cute habit to pick up. Goodbye Ms. Stahl."

She slams the door before she can get a word in edgewise. She hadn't realized how much adrenaline she had been running on during their short conversation. Now that she's alone she can feel her body trembling and her vision has tunneled. Laura tells herself to take a few breaths as she runs her hands through her short hair.

The word 'cop' to Laura, has never meant safe. Never correlated with the word 'law' or 'justice.' To her, cop, is just a fancy title for a person with a power complex, and it doesn't matter if they work for the FBI or the CIA or if they're just as mundane as Unser. A cop is a cop is a cop. That's it.

Part of her reasoning behind those thoughts is that growing up, police officers didn't do squat about her family life. Lowell Sr. wasn't just a junkie, he was a well known junkie, and if a single cop took the time to drive to her house and look inside, they would see a place unfit for a children. But despite the rumors, they did nothing, not even when it was glaringly obvious Lowell a minor as well as head of household.

But another reason, one that's just a bone in her closet of skeletons, has to do with her felony. A whole decade prior, when her hair was still long, and she was bitter at her circumstances instead of accepting, Laura had watched her brother come home bleeding and bruised. She fixed him up, and quickly learned he had attempted to fight two grown men over a dime back of crank. He lost, but somehow managed to snag the drugs. He didn't even care he was missing a tooth, not when he finally heated up the spoon and pumped a syringe into his veins.

Laura had sat there, staring at the left over substance, amazed and slightly curious. How could something so small cause men to risk their lives? How could a plastic baggie of powder make her father better and worse in the span of seconds. Make her brother a completey different person. It must be good, to get so addicted and never want to let go.

She'll never forgive herself for lighting the tea candle and picking up the spoon, she had seen it done so many times that it was like second nature, and that scared her almost as much as finding the vein and poking the needle in. For a few slow seconds Laura hadn't felt anything, and then it was _everything_ at once. It was like being really cold and submerging herself in a bath of hot water. She tingled and burned, a liquid metal racing up her arm and encasing every nerve inside her body.

She doesn't remember a lot after that, a few images of her stumbling around the house with a dopey grin on her face. Once she thinks she might have just laid on the living room floor for an hour, in undisturbed bliss. Either way, Laura has never felt more euphoric or just good in her life. She could understand what made her father and brother go back for more, risk everything for another hit. Obviously it was all down hill after she reached the peak. Laura had begun to panic, regret what she did, and then threw up for fifteen minutes before passing out over the toilet.

When she had regained conciousness the first thing she did was take a steaming hot shower, rubbing the sweat and dirt and guilt from her skin. Then she promptly gathered the baggie in her wallet to go throw it out. She hated the come down, and while the high had been great, it was also terrifying. Laura only felt those emotions because of a drug, something fake that wasn't her. And she would be damned before she became her family.

It was natural that a cop had pulled her over becuase the truck had a busted tail light. And it was natural that as soon as he learned she was a Harland, he requested to search her. She was locked up quicker than she could defend herself.

The club got their lawyer on her case, and Unser was on her side. The rest was, as they say, history, even if it took four years and some community service.

After that she avoided drugs at all costs, she didn't drink very much either, before Clay's party she hadn't touched alcohol in four months. She knows that's for the best, it's in her DNA to be an addict, and one slip up would send her right next to her brother in SAMCRO rehab.

Laura shudders, peaking out the blinds to make sure Stahl is gone, even though she knows she is. She turns back and goes sprinting up the stairs, reaching Moby's room and knocking softly before entering.

"Hey kiddo," she murmurs. He's sitting on the corner of his bed, hugging his Captain America figure. When he sees her, he visably relaxes.

"That lady was creepy," he says, and Laura chuckles, taking a seat on the bed and pulling him into her lap. She hadnt thought much about Stahl at first, but Moby is right. Something is definitely off kilter about that lady. They say kids always notice that stuff first.

"Well she's gone now," Laura says, holding him tighter against her chest, he twists around till he's hugging her back, head on her shoulder.

"Good."

Her belly rolls and her grips tightens at the thought of that woman hurting her...Lowell's son.

"Hey Moby?"

"Yeah?"

"I promise I'll never let anything bad happen to you," she watches as he pulls back to look at her, and she pushes her thumb under his chin, "okay? Ill keep you safe."

Moby looks confused at first, but doesn't hesitate to fall back into her arms again.

"I love you Auntie," he says, "and I promise to keep you safe too."

They sit like that, for what must be an hour, till both of them are nodding off on each other. Only when Laura feels her legs go numb does she think it's a good idea to move, and she gently sets Moby on his side, tucking him in and kissing his temple. His skin is so soft, and nearly translucent in the moonlight. The vein she sees there carries his heartbeat under her lips.

This is a life, she thinks, his life, and it's yours to keep now. You're all he has. You have to protect him.

Laura pulls away, backing out of his room and scampering down the stairs. She reaches her purse on the kitchen counter and fishes through its contents before finally landing on her cellphone. She pulls it out and _Gemma Home_ is on speed dial. Laura paces, biting at her thumbnail, something she hasn't done in years. As a woman who's profession is to work on nails, she keeps hers in pristine shape.

Laura yanks her hand from her mouth on the final ring, she hadn't answred. She looks at the stove clock, only 9:13, realistically she would be home and awake by now.

When Laura calls TM and no one answers, she resigns to her cellphone, which is sent straight to voicemail. For a moment she allows herself to panic. Why isn't Gemma picking up? Why isn't Clay picking up? Perhaps she may have let something slip unknowingly and now Stahl has them both in cuffs. Her fault.

No. Laura closes her cell, no there is obviously a reasonable explanation. She had been smart with her words, hence why the fed was flustered. Her godparents are fine, and she needs to be getting rest.

Laura begins her routine for bed. Washing her face, brushing her teeth. Flossing. She dresses in an ex boyfriends old t-shirt. She had been twenty two and he in a band. She broke up with him becuase he was moving too fast. _Afraid of commitment_ , her friend Cassidy had chortled.

Laura lays down on the couch that night, more tired than she's been in a while. Her thoughts are swimming but only one stands prominent.

She has to go to TM bright and early tomorrow, and tell Clay what happened.

* * *

 **Just for a timeline in case y'all want it, Chapter 1 is set around the season 1 episode Old Bones, meaning this chapter is during the episode Better Half. Things are about to diverge from canon.**


	7. Chapter 7

7

Mo Chuisle Mo Choí

Laura had been exaggerating.

She doesn't head to TM right away, despite the potential importance of the situation. Instead she makes some breakfast for her and Moby, cleans up a bit and then looks in the paper for any potential jobs. She can work at Lumpy's, but that would mean working with Angela and she rather not. She can work at Hanna's Diner too, but she isn't a very good waitress. She tried that in San Fran and spilled hot chili on herself once, she ended up having a second degree burn. Of course, ideally, she would apply for job at the beauty salon on Main Street, or even settle for a position at Lumpy's barber shop, but neither said they were hiring when she called. So now she searches for any position that pays well and isn't taking out the garbage.

With school for Moby less than a month away, she knows she needs to be employed quick, and that's yet another push factor in getting her dressed and out of the house.

Moby hasn't been asking about Lowell, Laura said he was on a very important vacation, but she can see the eagerness in his face when she pulls up in the TM lot.

"Is Daddy back?" He asks, wiggling around in his booster seat, craning his neck to look farther out the window.

"Um," she has half a mind to tell him no, but she's here now, and it would be wrong to keep Lowell from his own son.

"Yeah," she answers finally, finding a good parking space, "he is, so we're here to visit him, but we can't stay long."

Moby whoops in happiness, pumping his fist in the air and practically leaping for joy as he slides out of her car. He slips around and flys his Lightning McQueen car through the air.

"Settle down," she says, "and hold my hand, we're in a parking lot."

He ignores her, though that's nothing new, and she can't get too mad considering the place is pretty much desolate at this time of the day.

Moby goes sprinting across the lot towards the garage, and she follows a brisk pace, eyes scanning the mechanics for any glimpse of Clay. None. One of the men looks familiar though, with bronze skin and tribal tattoos on his shiny head. He has a nice smile, she thinks, seeing him grin from a ways away. Moby is already weaving in and out of the garage in search of his father, she has to call his name twice to get him to come to her. The men are cast her looks that make her cheeks warm.

"Excuse me," she calls to the tan man, he must be her age, "hi. I'm Laura."

"Hi," he smiles, "Juice. I know, we met the night Clay got out."

She doesn't remember that. Oh God, she had blacked out.

"We did?" She regrets her words instantly, and tries to back track.

"I mean, well, I mean...we did?"

Juice laughs, a pleasent sound, and shakes his head, "no, I'm just kidding. I know who you are though. Are you looking for Clay?"

Laura gives a shakey smile, wondering if it was Gemma who spread her name.

"Yeah, or even Gemma. Do you know where they are?"

"Clay's out with Tig right now," Juice frowns, "and I'm not sure where Gemma is. Jax is on the roof though, if you're looking for someone to pass on a message."

"Okay, thank you Juice."

"Yeah, no problem!"

She waves a bit, and he looks like he's about to say something else, but decides against it. Laura can feel Moby tugging on her hand, so she leaves, now taking the boy inside the clubhouse, which is almost entirely empty save for a few mechanics playing pool. They greet Moby like an old friend, and he gushes and tells them about his new TV all the way down the hall.

Laura had barley opened Lowell's door before she sees the man fly off the bed and swoop Moby into his arms. He screams and laughs, hugging his father tight around the neck, wrist clutched in his little fist.

"I knew I heard you," Lowell laughs, "you goofball!"

Moby laughs too, still not releasing his father.

"I missed you Daddy! I have so much to tell you! We got a new couch, and a new TV! Daddy you missed a lot on vacation."

Lowell is grinning ear to ear at his sons words. His eyes fly to Laura and seeing her brother and her nephew reunited, she is reminded that Lowell is something her father had never been.

A loving dad.

At this epiphany, she feels like an intruder on an intimate moment. She has neither the courage nor words to explain to Moby he has to leave soon. Besides, it would only ruin what's happening now.

"We'll talk later," she says, "I have to go see

Jax, so why don't you guys spend some time together." Her eyes shift to Moby, "okay kiddo? I'll be right back. Just hang with your Dad a little bit."

He waves but doesnt acknowledge her leave, and other than a nod, Lowell doesn't either.

Laura knows what roof Juice had been talking about earlier, Jax used to sit on it when he was a kid too. There's a very vivid memory she has of him standing on the ledge, looming over everything like some sort of phantom. It had been right around the time Tara left, and she wonders if maybe he hadn't been a phantom, just drunk.

When she looks up at the roof, she thinks she sees movement, but she's never been up there and she doesn't have to be a scientist to know that's _his_ place. Going up there uninvited is rude and quite frankly presumptuous, but her meeting with Stahl is fresh in her mind. She knows it's necessary. Laura steels herself and grabs the metal rungs, one foot after the other. Her head peaks over the other brick and-

"Shit!"

Laura squeaks, jerking back and nearly losing her grip on the ladder. Jax, cigarette dangling in his lips, reaches out and grabs her bicep to steady her. When she had reached the top, he hadn't been a foot away, ready to go down. Clearly, neither of them expected to see each other.

"Jesus," he shakes head, "you a'right?"

"Yeah," she breaths, grip white on the rung,"sorry I scared you."

"Don't worry about it," he backs up, jerking his head to allow her to step onto the roof. Once there she sifts her weight awkwardly.

"So, um, sorry I just came up here and interrupted you."

"No worries," he lights the cigarette and takes a drag, her eyes follow the wafting blue smoke, "Juice said you were looking for me, I was coming down to see you."

"Yeah, I just. Well." How was she supposed to start this?

"How're you doin' darlin?" He interjects with smirk, leaning back and taking another drag. Laura feels herself blush and turns her eyes to the ground.

"I'm good. I'm, uh, busy though. I'm moving here."

"Yeah I heard," his smirk changes all of the sudden, to something less teasing and something more...melty. Or melting. Or whatever she feels in her stomach at the sight of it.

"Good to have you back," he says and Laura just about loses it. Her chuckles are breathy and quick.

"Thanks," she looks up finally. Did he get closer? "How are you?"

"Same shit," he shrugs, not upset. He sobers and jerks his head in the direction of the clubhouse.

"How is that?" He asks, "you know, with the kid and everything?"

As if it couldn't get any worse, he _remembers_ her mindless complaining from that night. Laura groans and places her hands over face, her ears and chest hot with shame. There's something though, the fact he cared enough to ask. No ones asked.

"Don't worry about it," she brushes him off, "really. I was drunk and dumb. I probably said a lot of stupid stuff."

Jax shrugs and leans back against a large heating vent, "not that stupid. Ma said Lowell could get out any day. You ready for that?"

Laura hasn't really thought about it. She only stayed one day with Lowell before he went and shot up, and her dynamic with Moby isn't perfect, but it is routine; having another person in the house, her brother no less, is definitely gonna change things. She imagines his freak out from that night at the party, the way his fists clenched and the absolute fear in her gut. Is she ready for that? Because Lord knows that won't be their only fight.

"I don't know," she answers in a whisper, "I feel like I should be, I mean he's my brother, but..."

Jax nods knowingly, "and Moby?"

Her her worry dissolves almost automatically, "oh he's great. I mean he's a lot to handle, but he has a really big heart. He helps me with just about everything. And you should see some of the shit he draws, I swear Jax, he'll be an artist one day."

Realizing she's blabbing, Laura clamps her mouth shut and looks down at her hands, twisting her thumb ring around the skin. Jax is smiling at her in that encouraging way he does, and she isn't really embarrassed to speak anymore.

"I'm still not ready to be a mom," she murmurs, "but I think I'm learning."

Jax finishes his cigarette and squishes it beneath the toe of his sneaker. Laura turns, looking over the horizon line at the sky, then down to the lot where she can see skid marks from motorcycle tires, not far away, is the gleam of their metal in the sunlight. She leans against the ledge, concrete cool against her palms. Saying it all out loud didn't seem scary, maybe becuase she felt so isolated up here. Jax works his way over to her, propping his elbows on the ledge and looking down with her. She can still smell the smoke on him, smoke, summer air, and pine. Jax has always smelled like pine trees.

"How's Abel?" She questiones. Looking over at him. His expression is reluctant at first, but then he smiles.

"He's doin' good, he should be coming home in a couple of weeks."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, I'm-I don't know what I'm gonna do. Christ, at least you've taken care of kids before. The only time I tried I almost dropped Opie's kid on the floor."

Laura stifles a giggle and Jax shakes his head at her, running a hand down down his face.

"I don't have much more experience than you," she shrugs, "and I got the hang of it. I think it will come naturally to you, Abel's your son, you love him."

Jax nods, thinking, and Laura asks before she loses the nerve.

"How's Wendy?"

He looks taken aback, and she immediately wants to retract her words. His relationship is none of her business, and it's clearly more complicated than it seems with Tara showing up at the clubhouse crying. But she's curious, and she shares a history with Wendy which _she_ knows _he_ knows.

"She's in a halfway house right now. She's doing really good."

Laura smiles, a part of her hopeful. Wendy had always been a good girl, one who deserved more despite her habits. _And if she can get sober, why can't Lowell?_

"Anway," Jax turns around and looks down at her, "what'd you need me for darlin?"

Oh right. Laura had been so lost in her conversation with Jax, she forgot why she came up her in the first place.

"Last night," she tucks a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, "I was unpacking when some lady showed up at my– at Lowell's house. Said her name was June Stahl and she's with the ATF."

Jax curses, jaw working. He shakes his head and looks back to her with his brows furrowed.

"What happened?"

"She asked to come in to ask some questions and I couldn't say no. We talked probably ten minutes before she left. She was asking all about SAMCRO and how my brother knew you guys and blaming my dads death on you."

It's so quick Laura thinks she imagines it, and so faint she's convinced herself she's crazy. But. But it's there, the tiniest flicker of guilt in those blue eyes. Does Jax know? Does Jax know what Clay did?

There shouldn't be any reason he doesn't, she is under the impression the President tells his charter everything, especially about who they kill, but the way Clay had explained it to her that night made it sound like some big secret.

"What did she say exactly?" Jax asks, "what did you tell her?"

"It was lots of hot air mostly. She was basically bullying me into giving her answers. I just said you guys like motorcycles and wouldn't hurt a fly."

Jax smirks, and Laura smiles too.

"When she asked about Opie being in prison for arson I told her he has a passion fireworks."

He chuckles, his whole face lighting up,

Laura can't help but join along.

"Good job darlin," he cocks his head a bit, "listen, I'm sorry she showed up at your place like that. I can't promise you she won't do it again, but I can promise to handle it. A'right?"

"It's okay, I just figured I should let you know."

"Yeah, thanks," he kisses his teeth and frowns, reaching into his jean pocket, "if she bothers you again give me a call, okay?"

They exchange numbers, and slowly they begin walking towards the ladder again. He descends after her till they're standing once more on the blacktop. Reality seems to come flooding back.

"I gotta get back to work," Jax squints, "but hey."

"Yeah?"

"You're doing good."

His hand is on her waist suddenly, warm and heavy, and then his lips are on her cheek. The kiss is innocent, friendly even, but lasts just a second longer than most, her belly heats up at the contact.

"See ya around Lue."

And he's sauntering back to the garage. Just like that, leaving her with heart palpitations and butterfly's like some high school girl. She needs to get rid of those now.

She thinks about having to go face Lowell in two seconds, and those butterflies drop dead. Laura sighs.

* * *

Rising Sun Nursing Home is on Ednen drive, not too far from St. Thomas hospital. It has a neat lawn and looks more like a large ranch house than a nursing home. It's painted the same colors as the uniform: finch pink with creamy white accents.

Laura is not a nurse, she doesn't know anything beyond basic CPR and so she does not work there as such. Laura is, for lack of a better term, a glorified janitor. Her boss calls her a housemaid.

Her job is to clean the rooms and empty bedpans, to serve meals and provide company to anyone that asks her. She is also on Bingo duty every Thursday night, and she has to weed the gardens every Monday morning. She works from seven AM to seven PM, or eight to eight, or nine to nine, all while Neeta watches Moby. Laura has little contact with the patients, but Charming is so small she gets to know them all anyway. That's why when Mr. Preston, a genial bald man, passes away, she hides in the staff lounge and cries.

"It gets easier," Robbie says. He's a scruffy, husky man, maybe two years her junior but kind as can be. He's one of the nurses, and can always be spotted becuase he wears blue scrubs while the employees wear pink.

"I know," she wipes her noes and tugs at her fingers, "I shouldn't even be crying."

"Crying's natural," he squeezes her shoulder, "it's a healthy way to get things out. Don't repress your feelings."

It does get easier after that, and thankfully the deaths aren't as often as one would think.

A week later Moby begins school and Lowell checks out of SAMCRO rehab into a seven day recovery facility. After that he'll return home, a thought that makes her both anxious and irritated.

It's Tuesday. Laura is scrubbing a bathtub in the dementia ward when she realizes it's Tuesday at 3:30. Moby gets off school at 3:30 and Neeta doesn't watched him on Tuesdays. She curses, sitting up so quick her back gets a cramp, and collects her tote. The room is only half done, but she needs to get there quick, Kennedy Elementary is on the opposite side of town and she won't be there for another twenty minutes. Laura curses all the way down the hall, slipping past a coworker pushing Mrs. Adams in her wheelchair. She puts her things away in the cleaning closet and is skipping past her bosses office for the front door. The woman is about as old as the patients, and an absolute psycho. She wouldn't allow Laura to leave early if her house was on fire, let alone leaving her nephew alone at school by himself.

She'll explain it later, hopefully boss won't even know.

Laura is halfway there, the last car she passed still honking at her when her cell begins ringing. She fishes from her breast pocket with stumbling fingers, and frowns when she reads _Donna_.

"Hello?"

 _"Hey,"_ the woman chirps _, "thank God I reached you."_

"Why? What's wrong?"

 _"Nothing, chill out_ ," she can hear the humor in Donna's voice, " _I was calling to let you know I'm here at school with Moby. I was a little late picking Kenny and Ellie up and saw him waiting by the play ground. I figured I would hang out till you got here_."

Laura releases a breath of utter relief and releases the gas a little bit.

"Thank you so much, you didn't have to do that."

" _I know, but knew you'd do the same if it was me. I also wanted to ask a question._ "

"Yeah?"

" _Do you want to come over to my place when you get here? The kids are having a lot of fun and keep asking for a play date. I figured we could hang out too."_

Laura bites her lip. She wants to, but she's unsure, for no particular reason except for the lingering feeling that she doesn't want to make a life here. Even if she already has.

" _Please_?" Donna asks. " _Opie and Jax are there and I dont want to make dinner for guys and kids again."_

Laura giggles, spotting Kennedy and taking her left. Pulling into the parking lot she can see Donna sitting on one of the playground benches in a lime green t-shirt. Laura wonders when she forgot how pretty the woman is.

"Okay, I'll come over."

It's surprisingly easy to get Moby in the car, especially when there's promises of going to play with his best friend Kenny at his house. Laura meanwhile is a bit shakey in anticipation herself, only becuase there's a certain someone there. Someone with blonde hair and white sneakers.

"Help me carry the groceries in," Donna asks her as the kids go running into the house without them. Two motorcycles are parked on the curb, somehow Laura is able to tell whose is whose, and she isn't sure how to feel about that.

"Geez," she huffs, shouldering three bags, "how much did you buy?"

"Not enough," Donna teases as they go in, Laura laughes and pushes her a bit, causing her to stumble going up the stairs and they both burst into laughter. It feels good to laugh again, it feels good to talk to a woman that isn't Gemma or Neeta.

"You forget," Donna whispers as they lug the groceries into the kitchen, "that my husband is the fucking Sasquatch."

Laura barks out in suprised laughter, really unable to contain herself becuase with his big beard and gentle eyes he does sort of look like Sasquatch. Not to mention he's 6'5 and his hands are as big as her face. A mental image of Opie creeping through the forest naked actually makes her snort as she laughs, something she hasn't done in months.

"Did you just-"Donna cackles, and the two are so occupied they don't see Sasquatch and his best friend walk in through the back doors, both giving each other amused glances.

"Having fun you two?"

Donna yelps and spins around, seeing Opie and sniggering to herself, catching Laura's eyes who almost loses it all over again. She adverts her attention to Jax, whose looking at her like he did on the roof of TM. Her face heats up.

"Let me help you with that," he says, taking the bags from her to set them on the counter. She rolls her eyes, feeling uncharacteristicly brave from all the laughter.

"Wow," she says, "thanks for taking on such a heavy load."

His eyebrows jerk up in surprise and he smirks, "couldn't let you carry it all that way darlin."

"My hero," she deadpans. Donna reaches into the fridge and starts handing out beers.

"So what," Opie nods at Laura, "you working at the old folks home now?"

"Yeah, I just clean basically, and it pays pretty well."

"That's good," Donna tilts her head, then scowls, "shit, I forgot to bring in the water. Ope, come help me."

The next things knows she and Jax are alone again. He smiles down at her.

"Long time no see."

Laura rolls her eyes, "yeah, two weeks is pretty crazy."

"I know, I couldn't wait till it was over."

Her blood pressure spikes. Is he...flirting with her? Laura practically has to fight off another blush, reminding herself they're just in the kitchen of her friends house and talking. Not doing anything and she's not some fifteen year old with a crush. She's a grown woman conversating.

Jax is grinning.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?"

He shrugs, his face practically split in half, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, "no reason."

He's still giving her that look, and she isn't sure if it's becuase she came in with a good mood, but he's in a good mood too. And if this is how they are every time they're in a good mood then Laura never wants to be upset again.

"What?" She demands, pushing lightly on his shoulder. _Jesus. What's gotten into me?_

"Nothin," he chuckles, leaning in close for a spare second, "maybe it's just cause I'm seeing a pretty face."

Laura scoffs and turns away, "yeah? Do pretty faces make your pick up lines corny too?"

He licks his lips, the corners turning up, "nah, that's just yours darlin."

He's really close now, his eyes taking in her face and she feels like if they stay like this for any longer, the sweat on her palms will make her drop her beer. She needs to look away, but she can't. And ultimately Jax yanks his gaze away from hers like he's realized what he's doing. He shifts awkwardly and she takes a swig of her Corona as an excuse not to talk.

"So," he says, as if nothing strange just happened, "has my mom started nagging you into coming to Ables party?"

Laura chuckles, "she may have mentioned it a few times. Why?"

"Just seeing if you were coming," he says, eyes flicking to the side as Opie and Donna walk in, each with a case of water in their arms.

"I was going to to," she shrugs, "as long as you want me to."

Jax smiles, "course I do. If I didn't I wouldn't have asked. Bring Moby too, he'll have fun."

Laura nods, "okay. We'll be there."

He smiles, then looks over hid shoulder and jerks his head at Opie. The larger man nods.

"We gotta get back to the clubhouse," he tells Donna, pulling her body against his, "I'll be home for dinner."

"Okay," she smiles, standing herself on her tippy toes to kiss him. Laura feels a pang in her chest, she takes a big drink of her beer so she doesn't have to look any longer. Then she folds her arms so no one sees the fists she's making. Must be nice, she thinks, to have someone love you unconditionally. She knows they have their problems, but they look so happy and all Laura has ever wanted is what Donna has.

"So I'll see you later?" Jax says, and she turns her head to look at him.

"Oh," she smiles, "yeah."

"Good," a quick peck on her cheek, "bye Lue."

Laura and Moby stay for dinner at the Winstons that night. Everyone is happy as a clam, Moby is on his best behavior.

But Opie doesn't come back.

(She later learns he walked in at two in the morning and slept on the couch.)


	8. Chapter 8

8

Perspective

Jax tries really hard not to let his temper get the best of him.

He doesn't admit it often, but that brains before bullets logo is something that really resonates with him. Not just because it's the smartest way to go, but because he's seen what rage can make a guy do, and honestly, it's some really fucked up shit.

It doesn't help that when he loses it, he _loses_ it. It's like he becomes someone else, lets the anger take him down paths that terrify him when he wakes up. When he killed Kohn. He doesn't often black out when he drinks, but that's what it felt like. One minute he was there, in Tara's doorway, listening to some shit the asshole was spewing, and the next he was setting down a gun and staring at a dead man. He almost didn't believe it, that he had pulled the trigger, really pulled the trigger; not because of a run gone bad or in self preservation, but because he wanted to.

And he'd been so relieved. The shithead was gone, Tara was safe. He's never been real good at handling his emotions, and in that moment he was feeling so many things that he did what he always did when his head was loud.

He had sex.

He didn't think Tara would go with it, didn't even see that in the cards, but she did and damn if didn't feel good to be on top of her again. To feel her skin and hear her voice. He didn't care a dead body was two foot away from him, or that something felt sorta off about it. He didn't care about what would happen next he just wanted to spend the rest of his life touching her again.

Now here he is, sitting in his room, hell, his home, wondering what the next course of action is going to be.

He wants to be with her, at least, that's what his brain is telling him. He spent eleven years balls deep in hundreds of women trying to pretend they were someone else, and the times he wasn't fucking a faceless brunette, he was trying to think of what to say when the real one came back. Of course none of it panned out like it did in his head, and now that's it's real...well it's not like it had been in his head either. At all.

He sighs, rolling out of bed and jumping in a quick shower. Tara is different from the way she used to be, which isn't bad, but one thing that didn't leave her is the need to actually confront shit. Always talking with her, always planning the next move. The problem is that he knows that's good, because he's all about the opposite. Except for just this once he wishes she would let things play out.

When he went to her the night before she started asking what they were, what they were going to do, looking to him for all the answers. He's just as clueless as she is, if not more so. The. she had the gall to ask: what would have happened if you came with me eleven years ago?

Like he had any fucking idea. Like she even wanted to hear the truth. _I would have wasted away without the club, Tara. I would have sat around as some minimum wage mechanic at some mediocre garage, playing pretend while you chased your dreams._

He couldn't have left his only home and lived some vanilla life with her in Chicago. They both settled that. So why did she ask? Why is she even listening to his psycho mother? Can't they just enjoy things the way they are now?

He sighs, running his hands over his hair and pushing back the water stream. Whatever the answers are, he's not ready to face those either, and anyway, he's done thinking about it.

He turns the shower off, toweling dry and dressing all while carefully avoiding his own reflection. Lately he's felt so old, he's afraid one look in the mirror and he's gonna see his old man days before the accident. Hollow, wrinkled, mouth weathered into a perpetual frown. Jax doesn't want that.

Back in his dorm he starts wondering if he should join the crowd in the clubhouse or spend these last moments of solidarity in peace. He knows whatever's coming won't leave him with anytime to himself.

Deciding to relish in this as long as he can, before ineveibtly cleaning up the shit storm Stahl is leaving them, Jax opens one of his less cluttered drawers and pulls out a joint. Allowing himself to get a good buzz on, he throws himself on his bed, staring up at the spotted ceiling. He fishes through yesterday's events and starts to grin. Hale is Stahls bitch. That's suddenly a lot funnier than it had been when he found out. And it was pretty funny then too.

But thinking about Stahl and Hale makes him think about yesterday's church, and that makes him think about Laura.

When Tara told him Stahl shoved her ugly mug in their business, his first instinct was the grab her by the shoulders and pray she didn't say anything. He trusts her, as well as he can anyway, but he knows how she feels about the law. She's always leaned more towards the just and true. (So has Hale, and now he's sucking Stahls dick. Jax almost laughs aloud, that's where being a deputy gets ya.)

But when Laura told him, he'd been worried for her, not that she would tell. He didn't even consider that an option until church when Chibs brought it up.

"What about the Harland lass?" He'd said after they discussed what to do about Half Sacks sweetbutt.

"Stahl already pressed her," he'd answered in a sudden need to defend her, for some reason, "she didn't say anything, she knows the drill."

And Tig had leaned back in his chair and shifted his beady eyes at their President, "you sure about that Clay? She's been gone ten years."

Jax isn't sure what he'd been more mad about, the fact Tig had to one up him or the fact he was putting a target on a innocent women.

"I just talked to her bro," he said, admittedly more pissed than he had a right to be, "she didn't tell Stahl shit."

"Jax is right," Clay's eyes were covered by sunglasses, but they were still drilling holes into Tig, "Laura has enough shit on us that if she wanted to rat she would have already. I trust it."

That had been that. No follow ups, no detail, nothing. The words said by Clay left him questioning too. He knows Laura has an understanding of the fact the club does a lot of illegal acticvity, but the details and specifics he thought were only privy to old ladies. The way Clay said that made it seem like she knew about something they did.

Did Clay tell her about her father? The answer could be yes or no, and either prospect leaves him uneasy.

Jax grabs his dads manuscript and pulls it into his hands, feathering through the pages with a frown on his face. He's barley leaned back when theres a crashing noise from outside, and several angry shouts that he can easily match to faces. Standing, Jax presses the roach into the ash tray and quickly hides the manuscript under a pile of t-shirts and a pink thong. He makes a mental note to throw that out later.

He breaks into the hall, stride cautious but quick, only to be grabbed and slammed against a wall. His chin bounces off the wood, causing him the thrash angrily and remind himself exactly what he was thinking just ten minutes ago. _Brains before bullets, Teller._

The pig that's got him apprehended is having way too much fun with his job, especially when Jax tries to adjust and the shithead goes ape with the MMA hold, slamming Jax yet again into the wall. He huffs, tensing against the man behind him.

"You wanna try it again asshole?" He growls, straining his line of sight to see a apprehensive look on the cops face. _That's what I thought._

He knows it's Stahl, even before he hears the words: "Bobby Munson, you're under arrest for the murder of Brennan Hefner."

Fuck.

Jax tries really hard to keep his temper in check, but sometimes, it's almost impossible.

* * *

 _He and Tara have always been off and on, it's the way they are. But lately, they've been more off than anything else._

 _He wants to blame it all on her, because she's the one who wants to leave, tells him they can run away to Chicago together like this is some soap opera. But he knows part of it is his fault too. He refuses to meet her halfway, either she stays and they stay together or she goes and that's the end of it._

 _He gave her that choice hoping she'd choose him, but instead she didn't answer at all._

 _So instead they take a break, their millionth break, and Jax deals with it by sleeping with other women. He wonders how Tara works her shit out, hopefully not the same way he does._

 _It's a relatively tame party by SAMCRO standards, no one has gotten in a fight yet, women included, no one has fallen off the stripper pole wasted, and no one has projectile vomited across the bar. That being said, Jax is five shots deep and feeling pretty good. Blinking away the fog that seems to keep creeping into his vision, Jax chuckles at the woman stumbling around the stage, occasionally trying to dance, but the pole is more of her enemy than her friend. Chibs whistles at her and throws a dollar at her ass, leaning to the right like he can't even sit straight anymore._

 _Jax stands, deciding he wants to find Ope and get high, then works his way through the crowd at a leisurely pace. His best friend is sitting at the bar, chatting with Kyle Hobart. Of course, it's pretty obvious Hobarts doing most of the talking._

 _"Hey," he he claps a hand on Opie's shoulder and jerks his head in the direction of the other man._

 _The thing about Hobart is, well, Jax isn't sure what Hobarts problem is. He's cool, a generally laidback guy if a little thick headed. Ma makes jokes about him being slow, but Jax is pretty sure he's just stupid. He's a good enough shot, and pretty good on runs but Jax can tell he doesn't give a shit about all that. He joined because of the parties and the girls, which is admittedly what drew Jax in when he was younger._

 _But then he grew up and got shit done, something Hobart seems to be struggling with despite the fact he's five years older than him and Ope._

 _"Hey Jax," Hobart takes a swig of his Corona and sends him a leering glance, "slow night?"_

 _Jax's initial reaction is to ignore him, they're not close enough to be talking about the pussy he does or doesn't get, but instead he just lifts his own beer in a wordless reply Hobart can interpret himself._

 _"Pop just finished a whole bottle of tequila," Opie says in that low and easy way he does, "how much you want to bet he'll try to punch Tig?"_

 _Jax shrugs and lights up a cigarette, leaning against the bar, "ten bucks, old man will pass out before he does anything."_

 _Ope lets out a low bark of laughter, and turns around, geasturing at a prospect to get him another beer. Hobart starts to chuckle, and points across the room._

 _"Speaking of Tig, look at the dime he scored."_

 _She's broad and muscular, with long red hair and a jaw that makes Jax wonder if she is really a she. Tig is stumbling along, arm wrapped around her pudgy waist, dragging the woman towards a more secluded part of the clubhouse. Hobart cackles again._

 _"Do me a favor," he grins, standing as if he's getting ready to leave, "don't ever let me get that bad."_

 _Jax smiles and raises his beer again, "wouldn't dream of it bro."_

 _The minute Hobarts out of earshot, Jax drops his arm and shakes his head, "we gotta get rid of him, man."_

 _"Tell me about it," Ope grunts, "before you came over he was telling me all about his plans for the club."_

 _Jax winces, "do I even wanna know?"_

 _"Nope. Did you see- holy shit."_

 _Jax frowns at his friend, searching the crowd trying to find what's got Opie looking like the time they accidentally walked in on Piney and some sweetbutt. Then he sees it._

 _"No way."_

 _Hobart is slouching against the wall by the clubhouse door, one half of his mouth lifted in an awkward leer. Beside him, looking simultaneously embarrassed and uncomfortable, is Laura Harland. She's in a large t-shirt and small shorts, cheeks pink from wind blow and hair standing up on all ends. She clearly just got off someones bike, and judging by her attire, including the slippers, was sleeping before that._

 _"Should we do something?" Opie asks, sharing a look with Jax. He shrugs helplessly, both of them turning back like being drawn to a bad movie._

 _Laura inches away from Hobart, but the older man just follows. Jax has seen this before, Hobart always picks women way younger than him, and while that's not usually an issue, women way younger than him are often under eighteen. That's both illegal and wrong. To Jax, it's like he's out there preying on little girls, and he's only eighteen himself._

 _"Hobart!" He hollers, waving him over like he's a prospect. Any self respecting member would tell Jax to fuck off, but Hobart just saunters on over like a dog being called._

 _Opie must have the same thought, because he snickers into his beer._

 _"What up?" Hobart asks, Jax jerks his head at Laura._

 _"Have any idea who that is?"_

 _Hobart shrugs, "seen her around a few times, thought she looked good. Why?"_

 _Jax and Opie lock eyes, and Opie is the one who answers this time._

 _"She's sixteen."_

 _Hobarts eyes pop out of his head and he spins around, staring at Laura who is now making her way through the crowd and toward the dorm rooms._

 _"You're kidding," he says, "with an ass like that? Shit, I thought she was at least eighteen."_

 _No, Jax thinks, she definitely looks her age, face void of any make up, body swamped by the t-shirt. Against his will, his eyes follow the curve of her back to the pert apple ass. She's certainly well endowed in that department, but it doesn't stop him from shooting Hobart a dirty look._

 _"Guess I better go apologize," Hobart winces._

 _Jax frowns, "why?"_

 _"Well," he rubs the back of his neck, "I might have come on a little strong."_

 _Jax shakes his head, Opie still chucking at the weird scenario. Hobart is walking towards her like a kicked puppy._

 _"Well," Ope says, monotone, "he's got as much tact as a fucking bulldozer."_

 _Jax laughs, seconding his brothers observation. They continue to watch in horror as Hobart suddenly brings Laura back to the other end of the bar and gets her a drink. Jax isn't sure if she looks bored or confused._

 _"Alright," Ope stands, "I've seen my share of fucked up shit for the night, I think I'm gonna get going."_

 _"What?" Jax frowns, "now?"_

 _"I promised Donna I'd hang out with her tonight."_

 _Jax rolls his eyes at Opie, grabbing his friend's opened and undrinken beer from his grasp. If he's gotta go, looks like Jax has the night all to himself._

 _"Brother," he says with a sad shake of his head, "you are neck deep in a bowl of pussy whip."_

 _Ope promptly flips him off as he walks away, and quickly gestures to the awkward cradle robbing scene behind Jax._

 _"If I were you, I'd save him."_

 _"Him?"_

 _"Yeah," Ope smirks, "Clay finds out and Hobart won't have legs to put in his pants."_

 _Jax is left shaking his head with a smile, all too happy at that particular thought. Not for the first time he's feels bad for the people who wrote Ope off in high school. Behind the glare, the cutt and beard he's already sporting, Ope is one funny motherfucker. When he decides to talk anyway._

 _Jax meanders towards the duo, only to see Laura staring at Hobart with eyes wide and a face of thinly veiled shock. When she catches sight of Jax, she offers the tiniest smile he's ever seen. Still, it's something. He's known her for six years and he can count the number of times she's really smiled on one hand._

 _"Hey Lue," he leans against the wall beside her, "didn't think I'd see you here."_

 _She shrugs, "I didn't feel like going to Clay's so he brought me over."_

 _Jax glances at Hobart, who looks confused, but doesn't say anything._

 _"Sorry none of the girls are around, my mom might be somewhere outside."_

 _"It's okay," she nods, "I was talking to Kevin."_

 _For the second time in one night, Jax chokes on his drink, struggling not to spit out the beer and laugh. He quickly swallows it down, but trying to swallow his grin proves to be much harder._

 _"It's Kyle," Hobart corrects, pressing his mouth in a thin line, eyes flashing angrily. Jax straightens up, just a bit, just in case._

 _"I'm so sorry," Laura waves her hands, face distraught, "I didn't mean to say that, really, it's just Clay told me the Prospects name was Kevin so I assumed..."_

 _Now that one makes Jax wince, and Hobart looks like he could chew through a metal door._

 _"Not a prospect," he spits, "I'm a full memeber of this club, and I don't need some sweetbutt gash thinking she's clever."_

 _Swooping in for the rescue, Jax quickly drops his arm over Hobarts shoulder and leads him away, grip tightening in a warning that says this isn't a choice._

 _"Can you believe the nerve of that-"_

 _"Alright man," Jax pulls back, putting his hands in his pockets so he doesn't see them curl into fists, "I'm gonna stop you there."_

 _"What?" Hobart looks disgusted, like he stepped on a big bug or something, "you think your mom knows about her pushing up on Clay? That's kinda mess-"_

 _"She's not," Jax sighs, at a loss how to explain this, "and she's not a sweetbutt either. Lets just drop it."_

 _Now he looks like a lost puppy, frowning deep in thought, one of the veins on his head pops out._

 _"Hell," he runs a hand over his buzzed head, "whatever. I don't have time for this shit."_

 _"No," Jax pats his backs. Little forcefully, "you don't. Why don't you go check out Emily over there, she's been lookin' at you all night bro."_

 _Hobart, none too subtly, swings his eyes over to Emily Duncan in the corner, occupied by a hangaround. The woman is a dime and a half, and not shy when it comes to being with more than one man in a night. Jacob is sure she and Hobart will get along fine._

 _"You're right," Hobart finishes his beer and jerks his head at Laura, "put that bitch in her place for me?"_

 _Jax nods tightly, and with all that bravado Hobart carries around, he saunters off._

 _Jax turns around, taking a deep breath, and finds his way back to the younger girl. His buzz is definitely killed, he's not used to the role of peacemaker. That's Ope's job._

 _"Put me in my place, huh?"_

 _His eyes widen to platters. It's not often he finds himself speechless, but when he does it usually because of her. This Laura. He used to think it was her awkwardness that made him unable to talk, but seeing the way she's easily resting against the bar, it makes him wonder if he's the awkward one._

 _"No," he clears his throat, "I wouldn't do that, darlin."_

 _Laura nods, lips quirking up, "I know."_

 _Now what? This is probably the longest interaction they've ever had._

 _"I'm gonna go outside," she says suddenly, slipping off the stool. Her shorts ride up and Jax is sure to remind himself it's the alcohol that makes him look. Not the picture of bubbly perfection he saw earlier._

 _"Okay," he clears his throat again, Jesus he sounds like prepubescent boy, "I'll see you around then."_

 _Laura lifts one shoulder, her face going a very bright shade of red, all the way down her neck. She drops her eyes, but her voice is strong, "I was gonna, um, roll one. If you want to come."_

 _Roll one? Jax blinks in shock. Roll a joint? "You smoke?" He asks, startled._

 _"Well yeah," her face, if possible, gets even redder, "you don't have to come if you don't want to."_

 _Jax is shocked enough that when she brushes past him, it takes a few for his body to turn around and follow her out the door. He thinks he sees her smile when she catches him tailing after her, but then she's looking away again and all he sees is that bushy mane of blonde hair. Tara's hair is sleek and brown, she's taller too, and has a better rack-_

 _Why the hell am I comparing her to Tara? Jax isn't even the type of guy to judge a woman on her appearance. Sure, that's what he looks for when he wants to get laid, but flaws haven't stopped him before. Not that it would stop him now. NotthathewouldevenconsidersleepingwithLauraHar-_

 _"Jax?"_

 _His head jerks up. They're outside the doors, by the picnic tables, a fairly unoccupied space. She's clutching a purse to her chest._

 _"I meant it, yknow," she backs up and perches herself on the table top, crossing a tanned leg over the other, "you didn't have to come."_

 _He breath deep, quickly. No more of this shit, he's Jax Teller, and he's not some floundering dumbass. There's a reason he gets so many woman._

 _"Nah, I wanted to," he sits beside her, resting he back against the edge of the table and throwing his legs out, "I'm just, I'm a little-"_

 _"Drunk?"_

 _Jax snorts, "yeah. That obvious?"_

 _"No," Laura is pulling a small pouch from the bottom of her purse, when she dumps it into her lap, a camera film container, and zigzags drop out. Very methodically, he watches as she grinds the weed between her fingers, lining it in the wrapper like she's done it a thousand times. He waits for her to continue, but she never does. Opie would like her, Jax thinks, they both talk the same amount._

 _"But?" He prods, he's made it his mission now, she's gonna say something by the end of this night._

 _"But what?" She glances at him for a moment then turns back to her work, "it's not obvious your drunk, but I can tell."_

 _Well then. This may be harder than it seems._

 _They sit a companionable silence as she finishes rolling, she brings the paper to her lips and licks it, tongue flicking out and drawing his eyes. He looks away again, staying the mud on his sneakers._

 _"Oh shit," her arms fall, "I forgot a lighter."_

 _"No worries," he props his hips up and digs into his pocket, he hands it over to her and rather expertly she lights it up. He makes a mental note that she rolled a pretty good one too. Nothing like Bobby, who can somehow, miraculously roll a spliff as thick as his thumb, by pretty damn good. She hands it over and recrosses her legs. Jax takes a few hits, falling into this quiet that's the most relaxed he's felt all day. Maybe he doesn't need her to talk, he's enjoying this._

 _Then he gets high and notices her slippers up close. He snorts, then laughs, shaking his head._

 _"What?" Laura is giving him a look that's creepily similar to his mom's. but she's. othing like his mom._

 _"Are those bunnies?"_

 _She lifts her legs infront of her, the pink fuzzy slippers catching the streetlights. There's two eyes, a button noes and fluffy pink ears. He snorts again, and looks to see Laura grinning._

 _It's the first time he's ever seen it._

 _"Funny story, Clay bought these for me like a year or two ago. They were a Christmas gift and I think he forgot how old I was."_

 _A mental image of his tough as nails step dad, meandering through the girls section of Walmart pops into his head. The grizzly man, with his leather cut and chainlink wallet and tattoos, picking out a pair of five year old slippers._

 _"No shit," he chuckles. Laura hops of the table and spins around._

 _"It gets better," she's giggling, her cheeks pink for a new reason and it's pretty endearing, "look." She stomps, and the ears perk up. Again, and Jax can't help himself._

 _"They're stompeez," Laura giggles, "the president of SAMCRO bought me stompeez."_

 _Ten minutes later, when they've bid eachother goodbye, Jax is still smiling about it. Thirty minutes later, when he's got his arm over a reheaded sweetbutt, and she's playing cards with Chibs, he's smiling about it. And at the end of the night, when she's presumably gone to bed, and he's got his arm wrapped around a different sweetbutt, he finds himself silently chuckling._

It didnt occur to him then, and didn't for another eight years, that the reason he'd been so happy wasn't the Stompeez. Wasn't the weed or even the liquor. It was her. There had been something so contagious and good about Laura Harland that it stuck with him. After that night, after the first time he killed someone, after Tara left and his chest caved in. After everything. It's a memory that Jax just might have till the day he dies.

* * *

 **I'll be honest, idk if I like this chapter. I tried for a Jax pov, and idk...its very introspective. Maybe boring? Maybe a filler?**

 **Tell me what you guys thought! I have a few more chapters in his pov, so if it was bad let me know so I can write something else lol.**

 **Sorry for any errors, and the amount of italic, as well as the length, I've been out of town and had to upload this without a beta.**


	9. Chapter 9

9

Bloodletting

As it turns out, Lowell's homecoming is the same day as Able's. He offers to pick up Moby from school, and take him home while she works and then heads over to Jax's for the party. She couldn't argue, not when he sounded so good over the phone, he had hardly stuttered. Gemma said he looked like a picture of health and that makes her heart warm. She wishes she could be with him to see his face in his new living room, lately she's noticed how much he looks like Moby, and she bets he would have that same smile that he had when he sees it.

Robbie had covered for her early leave before, so when she requests off tonight the boss allows her with a lemon face and stern glare. Laura zips over to Jax's, making sure it's the right house. He lives only ten minutes from her, further into SAMCRO territory but in a nicer neighborhood. His house is squat and clean at the beginning of a small cul-de-sac. There's two cars, only one she recognizes. Laura stuffs clothes to change into in her purse and locks her car, frowning at the beat up vehicle she had parked behind. Maybe it's Luanne, she is Gemma's best friend, but Laura imagines a woman as obsessed with image as her, with as much money as her, would drive something nicer.

Laura knocks, there's only two beats before the door opens and it's not Gemma.

"Wendy," she gasps, of course it would be her. Who else would it be?

Wendy looks just as suprised as her, and Laura notes with a grimace how much drugs aged her. She's still beautiful, well, more hot than beautiful, but there's lines of age on her face and she's a bit more pale than before. She put on weight too, though maybe that's good, she had been pretty thin before.

"Layla," Wendy says after a prolonged pause. She can see the apprehension in her eyes, and decides not to be offended.

"It's Laura," she says, "but that was close."

Wendy chuckles nervously, stepping aside to let her in, and lifts a shoulder, "it was worth a shot."

Laura smiles at her, peering around the house. It's longer than her house, more wide but less tall and has patio doors that lead to nice yard. Hers is just...ugly from the squeaky screen door and on. There's already a few decorations up, Gemma is hanging blue streamers in the kitchen when she spots her.

"There you are," she says, taping the end of one down and walking over to her, eyes trained on Wendy, "finally."

The two seem to share a look, and not a nice one. A tension begins to form in the air that makes her step back.

"Am I interrupting or..."

"No," Gemma smiles at her, "me and my daughter were just talking about how excited we are Abel is coming home."

Gemma presses a kiss to Wendy's cheek and pats it once, turning back around to finish decorating. The lie is so transparent it makes Laura cringe, but there's a pleased look from Wendy that tells her not to question it. She doesn't.

"So," Gemma glances over her shoulder, "they really make you wear that shit?"

Laur looks down at her dress and snorts, "yeah. The guys have to wear pink slacks though so I'm lucky."

"Wouldn't say that sweetheart," Gemma purses her lips, "it looks like youre wearing a paper sack."

"Feels like it too," she pulls her jeans and t shirt from her purse, raising her eyebrows when Gemma walks over to finger on of her sleeves. From the corner of her eye, she can see Wendy watching on with a vulnerable expression, she always wore her heart on her sleeve that one.

"This," Gemma smooths the stiff fabric down, "was the color of the curtains your Mom used at your baby shower."

Laura chokes on the air, pulling back and struggling to chuckle, smile, anything to put lightness in such a comment.

"Wow look at that," Laura swallows, "being all nostalgic. What's got you in a good mood?"

Gemma sees right through her, but the loving gaze never drops from her face, "my grandson's coming home. My family is healthy and happy. Why can't I be in a good mood?"

Laura just shakes her head, going to the bathroom to change from her unifmorm. She tousles her hair to make it look less flat and pinches her cheeks to give herself some color. She's never felt self conscious around Wendy before, then again Wendy was usually high.

Laura is taken off of cooking duty when she burns the mashed potatoes, and inches her way to the nursery to see if Wendy is there. She is, folding onesies and staring about the window.

"Mind if I help?" She asks, hanging back in the doorway.

Wendy jumps, "oh, yeah. Sure."

Together they fold clothes, and it doesn't take long.

"So," Wendy says, "how's, um, Lowell?"

"He's good," Laura smiles, "he's clean too, actually. He'll be here tonight."

"Oh, that's good. Good for him."

Laura nudges her, "good for you. Jax told me how long you've been sober, I'm really proud of you, I know it's not easy."

Wendy's mouth hangs open, she looks likes she's going to say something but the words never come out. She shakes her head, and laughs. There's no humor in it.

"What?" Laura asks, worried maybe she said something wrong.

"It's just," Wendy scoffs, "I was gonna ask how you do it, but I don't need to anymore."

Laura frowns, "do what?"

"Get Gemma to like you. Gemma doesn't like anybody."

"She likes you-"

"No, she needs me for–I'm useful to her. She doesn't like me."

Laura doesn't have any words for that, not a single response because that is a very Gemma like thing to do. Keep someone around until they've exhausted their use.

"Well she must like you a little bit," Laura mumbles, "if she hates someone they would never be aloud in her sons house."

"Yeah," Wendy snorts, "guess you're right."

Laura unfolds a blue onsie and runs her fingers along the neckline. She refolds it again, then unfolds it. Refold. Unfold.

"Lets not focus on that," she says finally, looking up and squeezing Wendy's shoulder, "tonight is a happy night. Now come help me vaccume the stairs."

People show up not long aft their uncomfortable nursery conversation, one Laura does her best to forget. Gemma and Wendy leave her in charge of the house and greeting guests, which isn't as hard as it sounds especially after Donna and Opie arrive. They walk through the door a quarter till six with the rest of the club, both of them looking happier than she's seen in a while.

"The place looks great," Donna tells her, taking a sip of her beer, "even the croweaters cleaned up."

Jolene, a busty blonde in a tight leopard print dress goes walking past them. She still looks like a hooker, but less of a hooker.

"Yeah," Laura sniggers, "guess you're right."

And then Lowell is there, and then Abel is too.

She barley has enough time to soak in her brothers appearence. His face is full, his skin glowing and clean shaven. He's dressed in a nice button down flannel with his hair brushed and a happy smile on his face. He looks so good, _so good_ , and she is too busy smiling at him to see Moby let go of his hand and sprin at her.

"Auntie, auntie auntie," he yells, hugging her around her waist. Donna laughs and a few woman make cooing sounds at them. Laura blushes and hugs her little boy, looking up just in time to see the door open and Gemma walk in. Not long after is Wendy and Jax. Jax and Able. Able. (Behind them is Tara. Laura doesn't notice Tara.)

The attention instantly shifts off her onto the welcoming family. It's really an amazing picture, her eyes drawn to the way Jax's face has lit up, a tiny bundle of blue nestled in his arms. He's grinning, none of that worry from before on his face. She wants to walk up and hug him, grab the baby and kiss the little boys face, but she would never. Besides, half the house has congregated around him and she couldn't fight her way through that crowd.

Lowell worms his way over to his sister, who can't help herself. Holding Moby against her with one hand she wraps her free arm around his shoulder and hugs him tighter to her than ever. Her cheek is pressed to his chest, and she lets herself feel safe with him. Just for that moment. A feeling she has had about her big brother since they were twelve and hiding in the linen closet.

"Thank you," he whispers to her head, "you helped with Mo-Moby so much. And you moved here you didn't have to do that Lue. And the house looks great. It smells good, you did good Lue. Thank you."

Her eyes start to sting, and to her horrer the tears leak out before she can stop them. Quickly, she wipes up and pushes them back, she can't cry here.

"Stop," she smiles, as Moby pushes out from under her grip to go play with an anxious Kenny. She watches him go and looks back up to Lowell.

"I'm proud of you," she says, "thank you. For being able to be here."

And Lowell is crying too. He tries to laugh it off but she sees it and he wraps his arm around her neck, pulling her in and ruffling her hair like a kid.

"I love you," he says, and Laura loves him too.

"I want to go see Abel," she says after they've stood together for a while. Someone has started to play music, and the voices coupled with the strum of guitar makes a happy, buzzed feeling erupt in her stomach. Laura pulls away from her brother and weaves through the people, running into Donna along the way.

"I want to see him too," she smiles, "Jax has him over by Chibs."

They walk over to the guest of honor, but Laura stops just before they reach him, and Donna reaches out to the Scotsman, taking a hug and then scooping up the baby.

"Howya doin' lass," Chibs asks, tossing an arm over her shoulder, "havin' a happy homecoming?"

She smiles up at him, he must have seen her with Lowell.

"Yeah, it's been a good night," she nods at Donna and the baby, "what's the squirt like?"

"Tiny," he holds out two scarred palms and laughs, "I can hold the babe in my hands."

She giggles at him and he kisses the top of her head, moving away to converse with Clay and another older woman. Laura watches as Donna bounces Abel, blowing a raspberry on his cheek and making it look like the most natural thing in the world. When she shifts her attention, she sees Jax is staring right at her.

"Hi."

Jax grins and he kicks off the wall while she moves foward, they meet halfway, right in front of Donna.

"Hey yourself," he says, "thanks for coming."

"I wouldn't miss it."

She can't stop smiling at him, she isn't sure why, but her cheeks are beginning to hurt.

"Thanks for setting up too," he winks, "and putting up with my crazy mother."

Laura laughs and looks back down to Donna, whose giving her a look only another woman would understand. She can practically hear the words in her head. _Girl, what is this?_

"Wanna hold him?" She asks, leaning in, Laura bites the inside of her cheek.

"I don't know," she looks uncertainly at Jax, "I haven't held an infant before."

"Neither have I darlin," he presses his palm to her back and pushes her foward, her arms come up on their own and the next thing she knows is the warmth in her arms and her unsteady stance. She feels her grip tighten and his face tips to close to her clothes. Can't a baby suffocate in clothes? She tries to tilt him back but doesn't want to drop him, her body begins to freeze.

"No you need to take him," she says "I'm not sure-"

"Chill," Donna laughs, placing her dainty hands on Laura's arms. Jax is laughing at her too.

"Just hold him," Donna adjusts the reaper beanie on his head, "don't think so much."

Chibs had been right, he is small, he's tiny, with fingers the size of her thumbnail and a little button noes. His eyes are deep and warm and cornflower blue with long yellow lashes. She looks up at Jax, realizing that their eyes are the same. Uncanny really, the resemblance.

"He's amazing," she says, "look at him he's amazing."

Jax reaches out and grabs Abel's little fist, "he's strong too."

Laura squeezes him closer, "yeah, he is."

Laura hogs him for a long time, unable to pull away from baby Abel Teller. He makes her happy, it makes her happy, to see everyone here for him, who loves him. When she was growing up her mother had loved her, but she left, and her father would have sold her for an ounce of crank; but here this little boy is with a whole house of people who love him. With a good father and a mother who got clean just for him.

"He's the luckiest baby ever," she whispers to no one but herself. She looks up at Jax and his content expression, only to be nudged gently, though rather rudely, out of the way by another body.

Laura steps back in surprise to see Tara Knowls wrap her arms around Jax's midsection. It's clear to see what the gesture means, it's almost proving a point. _He's mine._ Laura's gaze flicks between them, confused, but she hides it just as quick as it came.

"Here," she says, passing him to Tara, "I should go see what Moby is doing."

Tara gives her a smile, no hard feelings it says, but the original intentions of her embrace linger. Laura can't get away quicker. She hadn't meant anything by lingering with Abel, she just felt blessed to hold him. Nothing else.

Except maybe the peace she felt next to Jax, but that's irrelevant.

Laura mingles with almost everyone, but spends the most time in Donna's company, just chatting and making plans. It's clear Moby wants a sleepover with his friends, and Donna seems to be having the best time, she doesn't want to leave. She regales stories of her honeymoon with Opie and the terrible twos with Ellie, all while Laura listens on quietly. Her eyes stay on Moby though, and by the time nine o'clock rolls around, she can tell it's bedtime. They're fighting more than talking now.

"Hey," Opie barks sternly when Kenny pushes Moby down, the boy already taller than her nephew, "cut it out."

"Bedtime," Donna chuckles, "guess we should get going."

Laura winces. "Do you still want him to stay the night?"

"Of course! We'll put on a movie when we get home and they'll go out right away anyway. Can you come help me with his booster seat though?"

"Course."

They make their leave, Laura going by the doorway to get her purse when Juice steps sideways and bumps into her. Laura looks up to see Tara exit angrily, the door slamming in her wake. She casts him a questioning look.

"Trouble in paradise," he shrugs, the statement sounding more like a question. She shrugs back as Jax walks up to them, his left cheek looking a little red.

"Juice," he sighs, "can you do me a favor make sure Tara gets home safe?"

Juice looks a bit put off, but hands the blonde his beer and walks out, "no problem man."

And that leaves two.

"So," Jax breaks the silence, "you gettin' out too?"

"Not sure yet," she says slowly, eyes still drawn to the door, "I was just getting Moby's booster seat for Donna. He's going home with them tonight."

Jax nods, "aright just let me know if you're leaving," then he winks, "gotta make sure you get home safe too."

Laura looks to the ceiling, "yeah, okay."

A kiss to her cheek, warm, gentle. Any more of these and people are going to get the wrong idea.

Outside is chilled with impending autumn rains. She can hear crickets chirping over eachother, she straps Moby's seat in between Kenny and Ellie's, just about through when the rest of her entourage come out to greet her. The kids aren't even running anymore, they're feet too sore and bodies too tired. They trudge to the car and climb in one by one.

"Behave tonight you guys," she says, tapping each one on the noes playfully, "Moby, did you say goodbye to your dad?"

"Yeah," he yawns, "he told me to have fun."

"Good. I love you bud."

"Love you too Auntie."

At this rate he'll be asleep before they even get home. Laura pulls out of the car, shuttling the door, Donna and Opie are talking in the street, wrapped up in each other's arms. She doesn't want to intrude.

"Hey Lulu," Donna calls, waving her over. Of course.

"Yeah?"

"Opie's gonna go ahead and drive the kids home while I stay to help Gemma clean up. I was gonna go get dish soap. Do you want to come?"

Laura raises her eyebrows, "um sure. You okay with that Ope?"

"Yeah," she smiles, "no problem. What's a couple of rugrats?"

She and Donna share a look, and promptly erupt in laughter, leaving Opie to shake his head.

"Okay, we're gonna split," Donna smiles, tugging her along to the truck, "I love you!"

Opie flicks his fingers at them in a wave, "I love you back."

They climb into the old pick up, allowing Opie to exit first, and then Laura turns to her friend in question.

"Gemma already has dish soap."

Donna waggles her eyebrows and pulls the truck into the street, "yeah, but she doesn't have anymore beer, does she?"

Laura can't believe her, and she tells her such with a laugh.

"What's up with you?" She asks, "you didn't seem so gungho on the club a month ago."

"Neither did you," Donna points out, "but I've just realized that I love Opie, and he loves me too. That love is enough. I can put up with Gemma and whatever shit goes on at the club as long my family is happy."

Laura decides she could really get used to this, having a friend, living a life with these people who accept her. People accepted her San Francisco too, but they didn't know her really. These people have seen her past, some of them even worked with it, and they've never been more accepting.

It really is unfortunate though, she doesn't decide that until now.

 _May you build a ladder to the stars, and climb on every rung,_

 _And may you stay...forever young_

"God I hate this song," Donna says as they take a left and pull up to a desolate stop sign, "can you pick up the CD on the floorboard there? It should be by your feet."

 _Forever young,_

 _Forever young_

Laura bends down, fingers prodding the mat for a CD case in the dark. She hardly notices the headlight pull up behind them.

 _May you stay,_

 _Forever yo-_

Her world shatters.

Glass explodes, tiny shrapnels propelling everywhere, flying out and snagging her in the face, a PAP PAP PAPPING noise and something hot and wet is dripping down her face. There's high pitched waning repeating itself over and over and over and she thinks that might be her screams. Donna is shaking. Pulsing. Laura sinks lower in the leather seat, hands outreach to her sides like a bird. Donna slumps foward. Donnas head is on the steering wheel. Donna is bloody.

A black SUV pulls up beside them, two bright blue eyes stare back at her. Eyes that are wide. Eyes that are gone with the van as it squeaks out of sight and Laura is left pressed against the door of the truck. She's faintly aware of it rolling foward, the weight of a foot off the brake.

- _you grow up to be true._

 _May you always know the truth,_

 _And see the lights surrounding you_

"Donna," she whispers over the song. She leans foward and pulls the emergency brake. She can hardly hear her own voice over the ringing in her ears.

"Donna?"

Obviously the woman does not move, she lays there, with her skin as pale as the moon and eyes open wide, searing a memory into Laura that she won't soon forget. She can't seem to register though, that her friend can't answer her. She says her name again, then another time, and shakes her shoulder for good measure. Donna's limp body is already turning cold, and at the jarring touch, goes slumping to the side where her head collides with the window sill. Laura jumps at the sound. A squelching, empty sound.

 _Forever young._

 _Forever young_

Laura doesn't cry, but that voice still in the car grates so harshly on her ears that she's lashing out, punching the radio station till her knuckles hurt, then she pulls back her hand. The song is still playing, and the dog outside is still barking.

 _Forever young_

There's men pulling her from the vehicle and men pulling Donna from the vehicle. The only difference is that Donna looks heavy and floppy while Laura can walk. There are arms on her shoulders, guiding her briskly toward an ambulance. She reads those words in the van and stops.

"M'am," a voice says, "m'am please we need to get you to the hospital."

"I'm not hurt."

"M'am its protocol, and you're in shock-"

"I'm not hurt."

M'am-"

"I don't want to go," she snaps, ripping her body from the hold of the paramaedics, stumbling backwards. The woman reaches for her but her partner stops her.

"Let us just do a check up," she reasons, "in the back of the van. You don't have to go to St. Thomas if you don't want to."

She agrees to that becuase if she doesn't sit down soon her legs are going to give out beneath her. Someone wraps a blanket around her shoulders, like her shivering is from the cold, and another starts shining a light in her eyes.

Things are going so slow, Laura almost feels as if she drunk, moving through motions without really feeling them. All she sees are Donna's eyes. Those had been dead eyes. She's never seen those before. And the blood, all the blood, maybe that's why her face itches. One of the EMT's gave her a rage to wash with but she didn't like the way it stung the cuts on her face so she threw it back at them like a child.

Motorcycles. She can hear them. They're coming.

Oh no. Oh God. Opie.

"Ms. Harland?"

Her head snaps over at sound of her name, eyes wide if when she comes face to face with Stahl. She doesn't look good, she has deep bags and bruises around a crooked noes. She looks empty too. She has dead eyes like Donna.

"Why are you here?" Laura asks. The first intelligible thing she's said since being escorted from the truck. Stahl looks like she can't understand the question, she pauses, then speaks.

"Why are you?"

Those three words seem to make something click. The reality of the situation maybe, becuase her throat twists and her heart just about stops in her chest. Her hand flys up to her mouth as she tries to stop the need to let out a wail.

"I don't want to talk to you," she wheezes, "please leave me alone."

They're here. The motorcycles. She can see the reapers in the red and blue light. She can hear the name of her friend on desperate lips.

"I'm sorry," June Stahl says. As if it means anything, as if it brings her back.

"Stahl," another voice snaps, the women looks over to see Deputy Hale marching towards them at an unbridled speed. He sees Laura sitting in the back of the police van and anger over comes his face.

"I told you," he spits, "I told you. Now you leave her alone."

Hale wraps an arm around her, pulling her away. Laura stumbles alone with him, confused until she finally sees the scene settled in the intersection of Poppy and Maple drive. She sees Donnas body sprawled on a tarp and Jax is pulling Opie away from her. He can barley stand. _I've just realized that I love Opie, and he loves me too. That love is enough._

Laura pulls out of Hales arms, shaking her head at him. He doesn't go after her as she drops the blanket to the pavement and walks away. He just watches.

Her feet carry her away from the police, straight towards the men of SAMCRO before she pauses. She can't go that way, she doesn't want to see them. It's too late, they see her, Clay looks up and there is emotion on his face, that heavy brow of his pinched and pulled, his eyes red.

Laura turns, she can't go that way, but behind her are the cops and to the left is Tig and Juice. If she goes right she runs straight into Opie and Chibs, the former leaning against the car and sobbing as Jax stands near. She's trapped. She can't get out. Her breathing elevates and she's walking that way, giving them a wide earth as her steps turn to jogs and then she's sprinting. Sneakers on pavement, arms pumping by her sides and wind stinging her face. She doesn't get five feet past the bikes before two arms wrap around her from behind. She bucks, lashing out.

"Laura! Laura it's me!"

Jax.

She stops fighting but pulls away, spinning around to see him standing there. He looks different from earlier that night. Not in attire but stance. He stands slouched and defeated now, his jaw his clenched.

"Where are you going?" He asks, lifting his arms for emphasis. She doesn't know.

"I don't care," she can hardly speak, "I'm leaving."

She backs up and Jax follows her, "Laura. Stop. You can't go running down the street."

"I can't be here Jax."

His eyes grow misty and he runs a hand down his face, nodding.

"Go wait by my bike. I'll be there in ten minutes."

It's the longest ten minutes of her life.

Jax reaches her, placing the helmet on her head and buckling it under her chin like a small child. He goes to tighten the straps and she smacks his hand away.

"Don't," she says, "it hurts."

Which is true, her face stings like it's covered in tiny paper cuts, but she just doesn't want him getting Donna's blood on his hands becuase she knows it's on her face. She can taste it.

"You need to clean up before you see Moby," he says, as they begins to slide on the bike. The mention of her nephew causes everything to become worse suddenly, and she can't handle it.

"I don't want to go home."

Jax doesn't even pause. "Okay."

All the cars that were parked in front of his house are gone and music can no longer be heard from outside. Party's over, she thinks grimly as he leads her up his driveway. Jax unlocks the door with his keys and places his hand in her back, nudging her inside first. It feels weird, hadn't she been here ten minutes ago, the happiest she's ever felt? Hadn't Donna been here alive?

"Oh Jesus Christ."

Laura looks up from the floor to see Gemma, face distraught and hands on her heart. Beside her, Wendy sits curled on the couch.

"Jesus," she repeats, moving towards, "oh baby."

Gemma reaches out but Laura side steps, calm, has to be calm now. Gemma stares at her. Laura frowns a bit. She doesn't...

"I'm going to be sick," she says, blinking.

"Down the hall," Gemma points, "first door on the left."

She passes Wendy, nearly inside the bathroom before she falls to her knees and retches into the toilet. She gasps, kicking the door shut with her foot and gagging, releasing the rest of her stomach into the bowl. She counties to vomit, even when it's just bile and spit. There's a knock and she hastily wipes at her mouth.

"Yeah?"

"It's Wendy. Can I come in?"

Laura flushes, closes the lid and sits back against the wall, "yeah."

The door inches open and Wendy stands with a cup in her hand.

"I broght you some ginger ale. It helps me when I'm sick."

Her mother used to give her ginger ale for stomachaches too.

"Thanks."

"Gemma left, told me to tell you she loves you and that you should call her as soon as you wake up in the morning."

"Okay."

Wendy tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, "and this shower doesn't work yet, but Jax said you can use his and um, you can borrow some of my clothes too. If you want."

Laura looks down at her shirt, it's splattered in blood, dark red and thick. She didn't notice that before.

"Okay."

She is still standing there, and the words fall out of Laura's mouth before she can stop them.

"Why doesn't the shower work?"

"I broke it while I was high."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

Laura snorts, standing on shakey legs and taking a sip of the soda to get the taste out of her mouth.

"Jax said you're staying," Wendy says, but Laura is too fixated on herself in the mirror. There's fat little knicks on the left side of her face from the exploding glass, and blood all over. In her hair, on her neck, in her ear. It's awful. She reaches up to try and brush it out of her hair with her fingers but it's already so dried and clotted.

"Laura?"

"Yeah," she looks over, "I'll sleep on the couch."

"No," Wendy shakes her head, "you don't have to-"

"I want to. I'm going to shower now."

Jax isn't in the bedroom, which is good becuase she can't face him now knowing what she looks like. She shuts the bathroom door and turns the shower on, avoiding her reflection and making sure the water is sizzling hot. It makes her face hurt like a bitch but that pain is a better focus than the images swirling around her head. The sound of Donna's head as it hit the window sill. She gags under the water stream and reminds herself to breath, placing her hands on her knees for a moment.

She uses his shampoo, not caring what it smells like as long at it gets the clots out of her hair. She stares at the drain until the water going down is clear and not pink. That's whent she steps out.

Laura dries off with a towel left on toilet while she was showering, she hadn't even heard Wendy come in, and dresses in the sweats and tank top left for her. She wipes the condensation off the mirror and examine her face. With all the blood gone it looks better. She counts the cuts, a total of ten not including baby scratches or the deep one above her eyebrow. It just looks like she was in a car accident. Or maybe she was. Is that what just happened? It had been an accident, surely those bullets were meant for another Winston, and it had been in a car.

No Laura, that had been a drive by.

She swallows and looks away, opening the bathroom door and peaking out.

Jax is on the end of his bed, elbows on knees and head in his hands. When he hears her step out he quickly sits up and turns around.

"Sorry if I used all your hotwater." It's all she can think to say.

Jax laughs softly, "no worries," he looks to the floor a moment, "I told Wendy to throw your shirt out. Your pants are in the wash."

Laura nods, thinking about the simple blue tee she had been wearing. It may have been a men's it was so big. But she liked it.

"That was my favorite shirt," she says with a strained laugh. Jax frowns at her and her laugh grows until it's slightly off and suddenly she's crying.

Her had flies over her mouth, but the weeping doesn't stop like it did last time, they just grow until she is coughing and Jax approaches her.

"Breath darlin" he runs his hands down her arms, "breath."

"She," Laura hiccups, "she was my only...she-she," the words stop and Jax pulls her against him, arms wrapping tightly around her body, a vice grip. He sways and rocks her back and forth, whispering something soft in her ear until she can swallow the sobs. She holds her breath for second, to really hear him.

"It'll be okay," his words are scratchy, "it'll be okay, shh."

Laura jerks back, exhaling, to see his cheeks are wet too, eyes bloodshot. Jax turns away from her, trying discreetly wipe his shirtsleeve along his face. She had been so caught up in herself she forgot Jax had known Donna as long as her, longer, and loved her in the way lifelong friends do. The way the best friend of her husband can.

Laura swallows her own grief for a second, but doesn't stop the quiet tears that now spill over, and she reaches up to Jax's face, touching his cheek and turning him towards her.

"It will be okay," she murmurs, other hand climbing up. She cups both side of his face and drops her head to chest. His heart beat there, soft and steady.

"It will," she says, and Jax's arms encircle her.

She looks up and he doesn't try to hide the tears this time, thought he doesn't wail like she had, but stands there quietly. Thinks he's a man and he can't cry, but Laura just wants him to know he can. That's it's okay.

He pushes them towards the bed, her feet stumbling over themselves till the backs of her knees hit the mattress and she thumps down. Laura crawls back, Jax slowly but surley shrugging off his cut and hanging it on the door nob. He shuts it; he kicks off his shoes as Laura climbs beneath the covers. She doesn't know what she's doing, not at all, and under regular circumstances she might slap herself and throw her body from the bed.

But these aren't regular circumstances, and she's so, so tired.

Jax climbes in beside her, waiting till she nods for him to pull her body flush against his. She wraps her arms around midsection and presses her cheek to his chest. His hand runs over her hair, fingers plucking the strands from her face and tucking them behind her ear.

 _May you always be courageous,_

 _Stand upright and be strong,_

 _And may you stay,_

 _Forever young_

They like that, both awake and both asleep in the others arms, till the earth swallows the moon and spits out the sun.

 _May you stay_

 _Forever young._


	10. Chapter 10

10

Aftermath

"Donna."

Laura jerks awake, eyes snapping open, the name falling from her lips like an explitive. For a moment she isn't sure where she is, why her body feels heavy or why there's movement against her back. She is till stuck in her dream on the beach. The air had been misty and sharp with salt, a woman so far down left on the coast she was barley a silhouette. Somehow Laura knows it was Donna.

And when Donna collapsed, she woke up.

The heavy weight on her side is a tanned arm, on it etched lines that were once black but now have faded to a slight green. _In memory of John Teller._ She swallows, the movement she feels must be the rest of the body, breathing, now waking becuase of her outburst.

She turns on her back to see Jax, awake and looking down at her with a wrinkle between his brows. The previous night comes flooding back and Laura is rolling off the bed, padding to the bathroom where she splashes water on her face.

"Shit," she hisses, hand covering the cuts that she irritated with the water. She had forgotten about them. Laura turns the sink off and looks up in the mirror to see they've all scabbed over except for the one above her left eyebrow. It's deep and shiny, a tiny trickle of blood rolling down the side of her face. She wipes it away, reaching down and balling up some toilet paper to staunch the flow.

Footsteps across carpet alert her Jax is up before she sees him. She looks over to find him leaning against the doorjam, arms crossed and face pensive.

"It not bad," she says, "I just reopened it by accident."

But he's not looking at her face, his eyes are trained lower, on her shoulders and the scars that are dotted there. Laura blanches, eyes flicking to her reflection. There's maybe four or five all together, decorating her shoulder blades like freckles would on a normal person. Except these are bigger, about the same size and shape as a cigar actually.

"They look worse than they were," she says rather stupidly. His face makes it very clear he doesn't believe her.

Laura looks away, pulling the toilet paper from her head to see there's a thin barrier over the cut that should hold till she can find some butterfly bandaids.

"You should get that checked out," he says, pulling his eyes to her face, it takes her a moment to relaize he's not talking about the scars.

"They're okay," she tries on a smile, "nothing some Neosporin and few bandaids won't fix.

"It'll scar," he says, eyes flicking back to her shoulders. She shrinks under his gaze and pushes past him. She just wants him to stop looking at her like that.

"Nah, it's not so bad, I have some of this lotion that will help out anyway. It's really good stuff, like, it helps with streatch marks and eczema and-" she realizes she's balbbering and snaps her mouth shut. It's not often Laura finds herself with a surplus of words to say, she doesn't like it.

Jax shakes his head, exasperated, and for the first time all morning she notices he's standing in his boxers. When did he take his pants off last night? Her cheeks flush, and suddenly standing in his rooms feels extremely awkward. No, they didn't sleep together, but whatever happened last night seems more intimate than sex. Somehow. She's never been more naked in front of a person.

In a figurative sense of course.

"I should get home," she says, wiping her hands on Wendy's pants, "see Moby and Lowell."

Jax nods, running a hand through his hair, breathing out a long, deep sigh.

"Yeah."

Laura nods once, pulling her feet from the spot on the floor to leave. Her hand is on the doorknob when she thinks to pause and turn around. He gives her a startled look.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

Jax swallows, then nods once, "yeah."

"It's okay, if you're not."

He blinks hard, and in a second she sees him pull himself back together.

"I am. Are you?"

She shrugs, "no, but I will be."

It's the truth, and she's prepared to say it.

She's not prepared though, for the look Wendy gives her as she walks out of the house.

* * *

Lowell and Moby greet her at the door with hugs and kisses, though more of the latter on Moby's part.

"Ellie told me her Mommy went to Heaven so I had to go home," he sniffles a little bit, "I was really scared you went to heaven too."

"No baby, I'm right here."

Lowell holds her, then in an apparent effort to make things less heavy, he gets her the first aid kit for her face and they all sit down to watch a movie together. It's a quiet Saturday, simple and easy, and Lowell lets her nap in his bedroom for most of the day. When she wakes later, she sees a missed call from Gemma and quickly dials her back.

" _Hey baby_."

"Hey Gemma."

" _You okay?_ "

"I'm getting there."

" _Well I wanted you to know Donna's funeral is tomorrow, supposedly around two or three."_

"Okay, I'll be there."

" _I love you babydoll. I know I've been giving you shit these last few months but I'm here for you_."

"I know Gemma."

Their conversation doesn't last much longer than that.

It isn't till later when she's making them dinner that someone knocks on their door. She thinks it's Gemma and sends Lowell to answer it, though he's calling her into the living room right after with trepidation in his voice.

"Ms. Harland?" Deputy Hale says from her doorstep. Laura folds her arms and frowns.

"Yeah?"

"I just stopped by to ask some questions concerning last night," he looks down at the doorstep, "if you don't mind."

It's all the basic stuff. What did she see? How did it happen? What time was it? What did the man look like? She answers them all as flat as possible, shaking her head yes and no when need be. When Hale asks her yet again to describe the man driving, she snaps.

"He was white, okay!" Her hand goes flying, she reigns it back in to rake through her hair, "he was was white and he had light eyes. That's all I know. That's all I saw."

"Light eyes," Hale looks pained, "blue?"

"Blue," she shakes her head, "but it was dark and I was scared, I hardly remember anything after she...for all I know he coulda been purple and I'm just making shit up."

"No," Hale snaps his notepad closed, "no I'm sure you're right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Thank you," he nods, "I hope things get better."

Laura nods slightly, brushing her hand through her hair again, "yeah. Thanks."

Hale had been someone she admired in high school, even had a crush on in freshman year. He's the same age as Jax but that's where their similarities end. Even when he was the star quarterback and not deputy chief, people stilled called him Captain America. After all, Davey Hale was the poster child of patriotism and all things considered orderly.

Laura's mostly indifferent now, but she has a soft spot for David, if only because he is so good. He believes he could change the world, fix the bad guys if someone just gave him a chance. It's admirable really, but also a bit naive.

"Why'd you come here to question me?" She asks as he walks away.

"I thought you might feel more comfortable here than the police station."

"Oh," she feels her cheeks heat, "well thanks."

"Yeah. You have a nice day Ms. Harland."

Laura goes inside to finish dinner, and Moby leaps off Lowells lap to follow her into the kitchen.

The funeral is strange, it's been years since she's attended one and the morose air fights to choke her. She can't look at Opie or his family, Eillie crying and Kenny upset. He doesn't quite understand yet, that when mommies go to heaven they don't come back. Moby is very good at comforting him though, and sits with them during the service.

Lowell is late and fidgety, she blames this on nerves but has a difficult time getting other reasons out of her head. He wouldn't shoot up, especially now of all times. Right? Either way, her brother is late but Jax is _later_. He comes in from the side of cemetery, disheveled, worn, and bloody lipped. Their eyes connect over the casket and she swallows tightly, still looking at her, he takes his cutt from Gemma, and a blue flower from the pew. He kisses it, places it with the others. Jax leaves then, the same way he came through and she looks at Opie to see his reaction.

Nothing, his face is jarringly blank and Laura has a bad feeling about something. This, whatever it is, is only the beginning.

* * *

 **Sorry for the length! I had writers block like no other. I'm updating twice in a row though so hopefully that makes up for it. Stay tuned**


	11. Chapter 11

PART TWO

11

Sic transit Gloria Mundi

Laura takes a sip of her coffee, releasing a blissful sigh as the caffeine rolls down her throat and provides a relief nothing else can. In the past month she's been working her ass off in effort to save up for an apartment of her own. Living with Lowell is nice, and it makes it easy to keep tabs on him, but there's only so much she can take. Since he's been back she's been folding his laundry and cooking his dinner; she isn't his wife, not in the slightest and just because he's a recovering addict doesn't mean she's going to baby him forever.

 _I do need to talk to Clay about lessening his work hours though_ , he's been coming home an hour late every night, the picture of exhaustion. Laura can't have that, him buckling under the stress and turning back to drugs, especially not now that Moby has finally warmed up to him again. For a while after Donna's funeral, he wouldn't even hold his fathers hand when crossing the street, now that he can is great for her brother. She knows it means a lot to him.

As she finishes her cup, the staff lounge door cracks open, then shuts quietly to reveal Robbie in all his scrubbed glory. He looks as tired as she feels.

"Hey," she greets. Robbie nods and pulls his lunch from the mini fridge, leaning against the counter with it in his hands.

"Hey Laura, how're you?"

"I'm good," she smiles, enjoying his company no matter what. He's the only friend she has outside of SAMCRO, Charming is too frightened of the druggies daughter, and Angela won't speak to her since she blew her off when she first arrived in town. Laura is usually okay with that, she likes her circle small, but sometimes she just needs a break from the constant reminder that her Godfather has killed people.

"How bout you?" She asks, willing to drag on their encounter for as long as possible, "you finally get that blender you wanted last week?"

Robbie groans, shaking his head with a lopsided smile, "it's not a blender, it's a Ninja and yes I did. It's pretty badass."

"Oh I bet it is," she snorts.

"It is! It can grind up frozen carrots in like, two seconds flat."

Laura makes a face and finishes her cup, knowing she probably has to get back to work soon.

"Your first mistake is drinking carrots. What are you? A rabbit?"

Robbie flips her off, "no, I'm healthy. Try it sometime and I bet you wouldn't need to be drinking coffee at two in the afternoon."

"Oh, go drink some lettuce."

She closes the door to Robbie's laughs, her own dopey smile planted firmly on her face. Sometimes she entertains the idea of pursuing something further with Robbie, she certainly likes him enough and she knows he sees her that way, but then a feeling in stomach always rears its ugly head. As great as he is, their relationship wouldn't be what she wants, it would be settling and she knows that.

Settling for a grey guy, she thinks. Robbie is great all around, funny, smart, and he's a sign language interpretater for the deaf kids at Charming House. He would never treat her bad and always spoil her. So what he's a bit in the round side? He's clearly fixing that with his fancy blender, and looks have never been a deal breaker for Laura anyway.

But she couldn't love him, not the way he would love her, not with passion and butterflies and intimacy. She knows that already and they've barley been flirting for a month.

Laura finishes her rounds in the dementia wing, he least favorite place to be, and then vacuums the hall leading to the rec room. When she's done, she goes outside to the garden where the younger patients spend their mornings, and allows herself to take her lunch break. It's pretty back here, and despite the weather, flowers are still blooming, albeit not for much longer.

She pushes her noodles around with her fork, debating whether or not to call Gemma and ask about Opie. Not long after the funeral he loaded up his bike and went for a ride, said he'd be back in a week. She understands, probably better than anyone, the need to get out when something bad happens (she did leave Charming after all). It would be hypocritical for her to be angry that he wasn't back after a week becuase she was gone for eight years.

 _But I didn't have kids_. Laura stabs at her noodles, Kenny and Ellie have been staying with Mary, and when they're not with her they're at her house. She doesn't mind them, they're well behaved kids, but they need their dad, especially after losing their mom. Laura knows what it's like to run, and she also knows what it's like to have a childhood without parents. She doesn't want Kenny growing up and becoming like Lowell, or Ellie becoming her.

Laura nods to herself and pulls out her cellphone from her breast pocket, dialing Gemma and smiling when Mrs. Rodrigo waves at her with a cheery wink.

" _Hello_?"

"Hey Gem," she says, "I wanted to see if you have any news on Opie yet."

" _No, you'd be better off calling Jax for that one sweetheart. No one here tells me shit anymore_."

Uh oh, she's in a bad mood.

"Okay, well thanks anyway."

" _Yeah_ ," there's rustling in the speaker, " _Bobby's getting out tomorrow, clubs throwing a party for him. You coming?"_

"Lowell mentioned going, so yeah I think I'll make an appearance. How's Abel?"

"I took him in for his tests today," Gemma's voice instantly brightens, Laura knew that would cheer her up, "doc says he's perfect, right on schedual."

"That's amazing! So no bad news?"

" _Not on the baby front, he's a little underweight but I'll just start pumping some whole milk into him. Doc said soy but I don't wanna turn him into a little vegan pussy_."

Laura rolls her eyes, "you know, all vegans aren't pussies. I knew a few in San Fran that could probably beat up Clay."

" _Yeah? Well why don't you call 'em down, have them knock a little sense into my son_."

Laura frowns, that must be what has Gemma in such a bad mood, the only thing that pisses her off more than Jax being hurt, is Jax being himself.

"What happened?" She asks.

" _Ever since the good doctor split on him again he's been acting stupid. Drinking himself dumb at night and challenging Clay, I swear Neeta sees more of Abel than he does."_

Christ, what is it with SAMCRO boys and them being shitty dads?

"Maybe he's still working through Donna too," she suggests, "I know that hit him hard."

" _Yeah. Maybe. Listen, I gotta go, I'm getting another call_."

"Okay, bye Gemma."

" _Bye baby doll."_

Laura clips her phone shut, gnawing nervously on the inside of her cheek. She's been seeing more of Jax lately but ever since that night in his bed their dynamic has been off. In the daylight, outside the walls of the clubhouse, they don't go beyond polite interactions. How was your day? How is the kid? I'm good, he's good. It's never awkward, but it's never real either.

In the night, however, hidden under dingy light with music too loud to hear anyone else but them, they whisper breathy confessions into each other's hair. Flirt shamelessly and then blame it on a drink neither of them had. Too many times his hand has pressed against her hip, too many times she never pulled away.

It's the secrets that frighten her most. More than a suggestive touch or comment ever could. She told him about her time trying heroine, he confided in her with the time he first killed someone. It's a twisted sort of thereapy, to be spilling their guts to each other when she doesn't even know his favorite color. Laura doesn't like someone knowing so much about her, and she doesn't feel any more positive about knowing these things about Jax. They're playing a dangerous game and she knows this, yet as long as no one catches on they won't stop.

Laura finishes her lunch, telling herself she needs to stop thinking so much otherwise she'll go and have an aneurism. She packs her bag and stands, working the next four hours quickly, mind still swirling with thoughts and daydreams. By the time she gets home, the lights are off and everyone is in bed. She showers away the sweat and grime of the day, crashing on the couch and falling asleep in seconds.

Just as soon as she's out she's awake, someone shaking her shoulder roughly. Laura groans and sits up, batting the had away while she rubs at her eyes.

"What?" She grumbles, glaring at her brother through bleary vision.

"Moby had a nightmare," a voice says, "he wants you."

There's a barley contained resentment in Lowell's voice, that's only been growing since he realized Moby bonded with his sister without him there. Laura tosses her legs over the edge of the bed, trudging up the stairs and into her nephews little room.

"Hey kiddo," she mummers, crawling under the covers with him, "what's wrong,"

"Bad men were chasing me," he sniffles, "they were gonna kill me."

"No sweetheart," she holds him tighter, "no no no. There's no bad men, just me and your daddy, 'Kay?"

He nods, holding her tighter, and she gets that creepy crawly feeling that someone is watching them. She turns her head slightly to peek over her shoulder and catches Lowell standing in the doorway. When he sees her watching him, he gives a small wavering smile and turns down the hall.

 _Weird_ , she snorts, cuddling her nephew. Not long after she's asleep again.

The next day she scheduals a play date and sleepover with Tyler's mom so Moby has a place to go that night. Then she gets his lunch, as well as hers, Kenny's, and Ellie's ready, before going to pick up the Winston siblings from their home and take all the kids to school. Her heart aches when she does this, becuase everytime she is reminded of Donna.

"Okay kids, have fun at school!" They're hopping out of the car in quick succession, Ellie leading the pack, "Moby, don't forget, Mrs. Green is picking you up from school today. I love you."

"I know Auntie, I love you too!"

"I love you Kenny, love you Ellie, Mary will-"

"Yeah," Ellie snaps, "we got it."

She slams the car door and Laura sighs, pulling out of the roundabout. She hopes that girl doesn't grow bitter and angry, hating the world becuase of what happened. She wants to to tell her something, anything, to make him feel better, but she's never good with words.

So sits idly by, like she's done all her life.

Work is slow, and she's gets off late, rushing home to shower and change before heading to the party. It's in full swing by the time she arrives, people milling around outside and inside, music blasting so loud she can hear it a block away. Laura shakes her head, the neighbors must hate TM, especially with the line of cars parked down the sidewalk. She sighs, knowing that's where he only place to park will be. This party is bigger than Clays homecoming had been, and that was the biggest she'd seen besides when he married Gemma.

She leaves her purse in the car so she doesn't lose it, and as she's walking up the sidewalk a pair of neon headlights shine directly in her eyes, causing her to throw her arm in her face befores she's blinded. What a dick, can't even turn his damn brights off.

The car drives slow, possibly reducing speed as it glides past her, the drivers window rolling down to reveal to impeccably shaved men.

"M'am," the passenger accents with a nod. Laura blinks, wary, and gives a half hearted wave. The driver smiles silently, glancing in his review with an annoyed expression before picking up speed and driving off just as quickly as they came. Laura looks up to see Tig and a larger, darker skinned man standing at the gates of TM, both holding their guns quite obviously. Shit. What happened now?

"They say anything?" Tig asks, jerking his head after the car. She shakes her head, looking over her shoulder just to see their red brake lights disappear around the corner.

"No. Who were they?"

Tig waves her off, tucking away his gun while the other continues to give the scariest glare she's ever seen. Like he's the epitome of the reaper on his cut.

"Ah, just some Arayan assholes, me and Clay scared 'em off."

"Good," she can tell he's willing her to the drop the subject, his eyes pierecjnf holes in the darkness just like-

"So is Bobby here yet?" She asks, shuddering and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nope, but lemme tell ya when the guest of honor shows up," he lets out a creepy little moan, "boy can't wait to see him."

"Right," she laughs, "me neither. I'm gonna get a beer, you want anything?"

"Nah, Hap's got me covered," he looks over his shoulder but no ones there. She could have sworn she just saw him.

"Christ, that morherfuckers like a ghost," Tig throws his arm over her shoulder, bending his elbow to ruffle her hair, "tell me if ya need anything doll. Aight?"

"Okay," she smiles, a bit thrown off by the sudden contact. Of all the boys she and Tig are the least close, maybe becuase he's weird, or maybe becuase the others just made more of an effort to talk to her, either way she feels bad about it then. He doesn't seem like a bad guy. Kinda.

Tig saunters off, running into some big bearded man and giving him one of those handshakes. She chuckles, making her way over to Gemma and Clay, who stand in the middle of the parking lot with a quickly dissapating crowd.

They chat some before she excuses herself to look for Lowell, after meandering around outside and not seeing any sign of him, she heads inside, instantly hit with a wall of smog and laughter. She waves her hand in front of her face, scanning the room and moving through for a familiar face. Near the bar she sees Juice, bent over a computer, seemingly blocking the world out.

"Hey Juice," she says tentatively, "have you seen Lowell anywhere?"

He drags his eyes from the computer screen, when he sees her and gives a wide and surprised grin.

"Hey Laura, what's goin' on?"

"Have you seen Lowell?" She chuckles. Juice turns red and nods.

"Yeah, he actually went to the back with a girl a few minutes ago."

Laura raises her eyebrows, "Lowell did? With a girl?"

"Yeah," Juice laughs, "why you look so surprised? Didn't think your brother could get laid?"

She splutters, mouth opening and closing as she tries to defend herself, "I, well, I-um. No. No I didn't."

He laughs again, so cheerful, with that kind of guffaw that makes her want to join in.

"He went back there last week with two girls," he tells her, leaning in close like it's some secret. Her jaw drops and he nods.

"Yep. Not that some women are that hard to uh, convince. You know, I mean I could do it."

Laura snorts and he quickly leans back, throwing his hands behind his head as nonchalantly as he can given the circumstances.

"Not that I would," he shrugs and his biceps flex, drawing her eyes to them, "I'm a one girl kind of guy."

Laura laughs at his teasing, shaking her head as he leans and places his elbow on the bar, casting her a look that's just as friendly as before, with a little something underneath. Then one of the strippers walks between them and his eyes follow her like a dog looking at steak. His peepers snap back to hers. She arches an eyebrow, smirking at him.

"Sure you are," she jeers, and Juice shrugs, laughing as if he simply couldn't help it. He kicks off the bar to approach her, and two steps away he's suddenly wrestled by Chibs. The irishmans hands slam down on his shoulders, shaking him to and fro while he winks at Laura. Hooking his elbow around Juices neck, he presses his cheeks to his.

"Juicy," he leers, "not gonna happen my boy."

He lets go, pushing Juice away from her and towards a gaggle of half naked women and leaving her shaking her head.

"He win you over with his charm?"

Laura turns to see Jax, pulling off leather gloves, the upturn of his lips hinting at smile. She grins at his presence, having missed it when it wasn't there the minute she walked in.

"Yeah," she leans against the bar, "we're thinking a shot gun wedding in Vegas."

Jax chuckles and instantly Laura knows something is off. It had been strained, hardly noticeable under the music but she still heard it, and as she looks up at him, he seems to have something conflicting swimming around in the space between his brows. Laura frowns.

"You okay?"

Jax's gaze snaps to her, and quickly he relaxes, leaning beside her with his best pant dropping grin.

"Nah darlin, just tired, I actually think I'm gonna get outta here."

"You haven't even seen Bobby yet," she protests. She had spotted the jolly old man outside when she was searching for Lowell, but he had already been so inebriated that she cut their conversation short. Now she's pretty positive he's motorboating two robust strippers on the pool table.

"Yeah," Jax winces, "I'm just not up for partying tonight. I'm thinking I'll go see my kid."

Laura nods, undersranding, but admittedly a bit crestfallen they won't be seeing much of each other tonight. Still, she can't keep him from his son just because she likes to be a floozy and flirt.

"Gemma says you don't do that much," she jibes, a bit overconfident, and bit curious. She likes to push his buttons sometimes, but never about serious matters like Abel. She wants to see how it goes over, as sadistic as it sounds. If only to see if he's really okay.

And she expects him to glare, maybe say something harsh back, but certainly not the deep bellowing sigh and downtrodden expression he dons.

"She told you that?"

Laura shrugs innocently, "she may have mentioned it."

Jax shakes his head, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. For the first time she notices he's not wearing his usual t-shirt or flannel, but a non descript black hoody, and maybe she's reading too much into it, but clothes like that are only worn by guys who don't want to be seen.

And guys who don't want to be seen are typically guys who are breaking the law.

"It's just," he shakes his head slightly, "shits been stirred up since Donna and no matter how hard I try, I can't fix it. I mean, I keep thinking I'll see him once I get the job done, but everyday is a new job and," he glances at her, "and sometimes I don't even know what I would do if I did see him. I fuckin'bailed on that kid before I knew he existed, now here I am a year later doing it again."

"And you think that makes you a bad parent?"

Jax scoffs harshly, gritting his teeth, "I don't know what it makes me."

Laura taps her fingernails on the glass of the beer bottle, trying to think of something, anything to say.

"When I first started taking care of Moby," she starts slowly, "I was being stupid and he got a hold of the Windex, the cleaning stuff y'know, and sprayed it all over his face. He was screaming and crying, and even I after I cleaned him up, I drove him to St. Thomas to make sure he was okay."

One of the lights goes out and the song changes from rock to something blues. Heavy guitar and a pained voice. Jax blinks at her story, then presses his lips together, quickly coughing in his hand to cover up his laugh. Laura's jaw drops, and she punches his arm.

"It's not funny! I was terrified! And I'm trying to teach you some life lessons so shut up."

Jax coughs again and straightens, failing to wipe the creeping grin off his face.

"Anyway," Laura is failing to fight her smile too, "after that I didn't want to play any games or have any fun for days, I was scared something bad was gonna happen again. But then he accidentally pinched his finger in the car door and I realized that you're gonna fail your kids, no matter what you do. The important part is just being there for them after. Loving them."

Laura is feeling pretty proud of her tiny speech, she's isn't good with words, but she knows her lesson might have packed a punch, and judging by Jax's contemplative expression maybe it got through to him.

Until...

"Should I be worried you sound like a Christian infomercial?"

Laura barks out a laugh, turning away to leave with probably her biggest eye roll ever, "okay," she kisses her teeth, "fuck you."

Jax laughs, following after her, "okay I'm sorry, aright?" He grabs her arm as she reaches the door, and gives the most genuine look he can with a smile on his face. From his coat pocket drops something red.

"I'm sorry," he says again, "you made sense. And you're right."

Laura nods, "you're right I'm right," then she bends down to grab what looks like a bandana, except when her fingers come in contact with the cloth, she quickly notices it's covered in something that feels like nearly dried paint. Thick, crusty yet damp. Blood.

She gets a good look at the bandna when she stands only to see she hadn't been wrong at all. It's practically coated in the fluid, and the beer in her stomach churns dangerously. When she looks up at Jax to see his face, a mixture of resolve and shame, she knows what she has to do.

"I don't care," she shrugs, placing the bandana into his open hands, "it doesn't change a thing. Go home, take a shower and hold your son. Okay Jax?"

It's not really a lie, after all she doesn't think of him any differently, despite the incminating evidence that he's done something bloody tonight...but she does care. She wants to know what could have caused this, if he'll be caught, but above all she wants him to be safe. She can't quite believe how in a matter of seconds their banter took a turn for the worst. That's all her life seems like these days; amazing highs and terrible lows.

Jax swallows, doesn't speak but he does nod, and he tucks the bandana in jeans pocket. As he brushes past her his hand comes up to touch her cheek, only it stops mid air and drops, as if second guessing his idea of touching her with stained fingers.

"I'll see you later, okay?" She smiles and pats his chest. This seems to put him at ease, if only a little, and the next thing she knows is Jax is gone.

Laura finishes her beer and uses the restroom before she goes back outside. The party is just now getting intense, those sober enough to realize it's only going to be sex and pot from now on, leave. The rest snag anyone they can for a one night stand. She pulls her cellphone from her pocket, cursing when she sees she has three missed calls from Lowell and a text.

L: _Staying at clubhouse tonight. Don't wait up. See u tomorrow_

She types out a quick okay and decides it's time for her to be taking her own leave, the alcohol is catching up, making her more foggy headed and lethargic than drunk. Finding the most sober Son, which certainly isn't Bobby, Laura tells him that she's heading home if anyone asks around for her.

"Okay," HalfSack slurs, "will do Luanne!"

She opens her mouth, to tell him wrong woman, both flattered and offended she looks like a beautiful ex-porn star twice her age, but she decides against it. Odds are he won't remember in the morning anyway. It's a lost cause.

Eager to get home to an empty house all to herself, Laura speeds on the empty roads of Charming. She's barley showered and in her pajamas before her cellphones rings again, she answers it without looking at the ID, assuming it's Lowell out of default.

"Hey there."

" _Laura_?" That voice is defiantly not her brothers, it's Gemma's, but at the same time, not Gemma.

"Yeah. Gem?"

" _Yeah. It's just you at your brothers tonight, right?"_

"Yeah," she crinkles her brows, "why?"

" _Well I was hopin I could stop by for a few, I'm with Wayne."_

"Wayne Unser?"

" _Yeah, he's just giving me ride. That okay if we stop by?_ "

"Yeah of course, is everything all right?"

" _Yeah baby, everything's fine, I just got into a little accident."_

"What? Where? Do the guys know?"

" _I'll tell you when we get there, and the guys don't know so don't go telling them, got it?"_

Laura can hardly believe her ears, "yeah, but Gem-"

 _"I can see your place, I'll talk to you soon."_

She hangs up, leaving Laura anxiety ridden and more than confused. Thinking on her feet, she rushes upstairs to the linen closet and grabs the first aid kit from the top shelf. Just in case, probably won't even need it.

Then Gemma comes in, and Laura knows. That's all her life seems like these days; amazing highs and terrible lows.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Clandestine

Laura doesn't know Cheif Unser very well, in fact she can only remember meeting him once or twice when she was younger at Gemma's dinners. Even then the well meaning old man didn't leave a lasting impression.

As she dabs more hydrogen peroxide on Gemma's cheek, she can't help her eyes trailing back to the pacing man in her living room. Right from the get-go she knew the story, _I was driving home and got in a car wreck_ , was bullshit. Air bags don't give you ring cuts, especially not on your upper left cheek, where any right handed person would hit. Laura can feel his worry from where she sits, he wouldn't be so worried about a car.

"Wayne," she says for the second time, softening her voice a bit, "there's orange juice in the fridge. Why don't you drink yourself a cup of that and sit down. You're making my blood pressure rise."

Unser stops and chuckles, "sorry, it's been a long night."

"Yeah," her eyes slide back to Gemma once he stills, settled in the recliner in the corner of the living room. Gemma's eyes are glazed over, giving no indication the peroxide stings, or that she even heard the conversation between her goddaughter and the police Cheif. Laura immediately feels her worry rise, this isn't like Gemma at all.

After fixing two butterfly bandages over the split, Laura fishes through her bag for a flannel pajama set Gemma might actually wear. She knows she wouldn't be caught dead in one of Laura's mismatched cami sets or oversized fishing tshirts.

"Go change into this so you're more comfy," she tells her, "I'll wash your clothes so they don't smell like car exhaust."

They don't smell like car exhaust, they smell like sweat and something musky like sex. In fact, Gemma smells like sex.

It makes Laura feel achingly uncomfortable, and more and more ready to pop the bubble and ask for the truth becuase she can't handle the scenarios swirling around in her mind. _Not to Gemma, anyone but Gemma._

Gem stands, grabbing the set and limping to the bathroom, though giving a valiant effort to hide it. When the door shuts she whirls on Unser, surprised at the speed the tears come.

"I don't know what happened," she whispers, "but I know it wasn't a car wreck."

Unser looks startled, and quickly tries to defend himself.

"Now it wasn't exactly wreck, maybe-maybe more of a collision. Or-or a-"

"A car didn't make her look like a personal punching bag," she hisses, "what the hell happened to her?"

"Use your imagination."

Laura whips around to see Gemma standing in full view, hard look on her features. Dread settles in her gut at the confession, but her reaction is slow and shocked.

She can't focus on any one thing, except for her pants, which are too small on Gemma, and the fact she didn't put on the shirt. Laura blanches at her limp, now clearly visible, and she's horrified by the thought. Gemma turns her glare in Unser.

"What the hell did you say Wayne?"

"I," he lifts his hands up in surrender, "I didn't say anything Gem, I swear. She fixgured it out on her own."

"Yeah," she scoffs and hobbles over to the couch, "you always were an observant little bitch."

Laura ignores the jab, knowing it's only result of the nights events. Besides, she's always considered being observant one of her best qualities.

"Gemma we need to get you to a hospital," she says instead, "you could be seriously injured."

"I'm walking ain't I?"

"Barely."

She glares at her, slowly easing herself onto the couch and flinching when she settles all her weight on her bottom. Laura feels herself squirm, unsure of her next move. With nothing left to do, she begins to clean. She packs up the aid kit and collects Gemma's clothes from the bathroom. Moving around in a flurry, she forces herself not to acknowledge the blood in Gemma's jeans or the rip in her underwear. She tosses them in the washer, then decides she's up so she might as well take out the trash. It's on her short walk outside that she can't keep her cool anymore.

Laura's had to deal with perverts all her life. Ninety percent of Lowell's friends had pushed up on her at least once, and never had she wanted their advances. There was even that one unspeakable time two days before her dad went missing, when he grabbed a fisted of her hair and whispered in her ear, "you look so much like your mother."

But despite all that, they had never exceeded something she couldn't handle. She was always able to get away or make them leave, and their advances stayed advances. She has never been raped, doesn't know anyone that has and for it to happen to Gemma...it's unthinkable. Gemma is the strongest woman she knows, Jax told her just before she showed up she beat a woman in the face with a skateboard.

She drops the trash bag in the dumpster and goes marching back inside; she comes face to face with Gemma and Unser.

"We need to do something," she slams the door, "Gemma you could have...diseases or bleeding or-"

"Trust me," she snaps, "I get it. But you know what happens when I go to ? People start talkin,' and then the next day everybody in Charming knows," her lips stick shut, shaking, and she looks away, brushing her hair from her face like she does when she doesn't want to cry.

Laura sighs, falling down beside her on the couch. Her blood is simmering, slowly working its way to a boil.

"If people know, they win," Gemma lets out a shaky breath and Laura finds herself locking eyes with a troubled Unser, "that's why I can't tell anyone. Not even Clay."

"What?" Laura says at the exact same time Unser leans forward, sputtering, "we gotta tell Clay."

"No," Gemma scolds, "no one. This secret stays here."

An uncomfortable silence falls between them, leaving Laura rubbing her temples, trying to think of what their next move is supposed to be. She's knows instinctively Gemma won't budge, she's the most stubborn woman on the planet, but she also knows leaving her unexamined medically is a wrong move. How they're gonna explain her injuries to the club is another matter entirely.

Once, after a particularly rambunctious party, Angela had dragged her to the Walmart in Lodi, and begged her to purchase an STD test from the pharmacy. Laura had done it, mostly because she had been living with her that week and it was the least she could do in payment. Somehow though, the news circulated back to Charming, and her peers had a real hayday with that rumor. Junkie Lulu Harland gets the clap.

"Stay the night here," she says, turning her head to look at Gemma, "in the morning I'll request off work, we pick up Moby and Abel and we're gonna go to Lodi."

Gemma frowns, but Laura doesn't give her a chance to speak.

"I'll buy you an STD kit, and we'll send it in my name. No one will know what happened."

She shifts her attention to Unser, "figure out that car wreck line, if you tell Clay like you told me he won't believe you for a second."

Unser nods, standing from the recliner and pulling his his jacket from the back of the chair. She stands to walk him out, holding the door open as Gemma sits silently.

"Thank you," he says, "when I found her I didn't know what to do."

She gives a sad smile, "you and me both, Cheif. You did good though."

Unser returns the geasture, "you too. Have a nice night."

The door closes with a soft click, and Laura turns back to Gemma, who's sole attention is on her fingers and their ruined manicure. She glances up at Laura once, and seeing she's looking at her, darts her eyes down again.

"I don't see you differently," she says after they do nothing for years on end. Gemma scoffs.

"Don't feed me that bullshit," she purses her lips, "I saw how you looked at me."

"Becuase I'm hurt," she frowns, "hurt and angry that this happened to you. God Gemma, I'm _so_ _angry!_ This is awful!"

Laura huffs, pushing at her eyes with the back of her hands, praying the tears will go away.

"I'm not like you," her voice is shaking, "I can't just lock it all up and be strong. I cry, okay? I cry and I get mad and worry constantly but you know what?"

She sucks in a breath, dropping her arms and wiping her wet hands on her shirt, showing her watery eyes in all their bloodshot glory.

"I don't care," she shrugs, "this is something that affects me and I love and trust you enough to show you. Gemma, I love you. Nothing, especially this, could change that."

She sniffs, knowing she looks every bit the pathetic mess her Godmother always said she was. _No more crying_ , she would tell her, on the particularly bad nights when she missed her real mother and had to watch Lowell get turned into ground meat. _Crying has never solved anything._

Gemma's jaw is quivering, her hand shaking just as bad when she brushes her hair away again. For the first time since Thomas Teller passed away, Laura sees real tears fall from her eyes. Two big fat ones, roll down her bruised cheeks before she stops them. Flicks away the water in her eyes and looks up at the ceiling.

"Come here," Gemma whispers, opening her arms. Laura moves foward, and instead of diving into the embrace, she maneuvers Gemma so she's holding her. It's uncomfortable at first, stiff, but she doesn't let go.

Gemma falls asleep on the couch, and Laura lays awake on Lowells bed till morning come.

* * *

After their run to Lodi, Gemma requests going back to Jax's house for the rest of the day. Laura hasn't been back since that night with him, and though she's positive Gemma knows nothing of that or their odd relationship, she still feels awkward stepping through the door. With all the decorations gone, it feels more personal. This is where Jax lives, and where he takes care of his son.

Where he was last night, after she told him to go home, and while Gemma was being...she shudders.

"Maybe we should call Neeta back," she suggests as they enter. Moby goes flying past them to play with all the toys in Abel's room.

"No," Gemma says, bouncing said baby while Laura sets his car seat by the front door, "I can handle this."

Laura shakes her head, reaching in her purse to pull out the test kit, fifty dollars and nothing more than a little card board box. Like Plan B, not that she's ever taken that.

"Well trade me," she requests, "directions are on the box."

Begrudgingly, Gemma hands the five month old to Laura, yanking the box from her hand and shambling to the bathroom.

"Well hello little one," she greets the baby. His eyes are wide open and blue, searching her face for any familiarity, "long time no see."

Spittle dribbles from his lips and she chuckles, waking towards the bedroom, Moby is quiet and nothing good ever comes from that.

Laura's cellphone rings. Frowning, she juggles Abel while she fishes it from her purse and congratulates Moby on his lego tower.

"Jax?" She answers with a frown.

"Lu," he sounds peeved, "what the hell is going on? Unser told us this morning that Gemma got in a wreck. I've been calling her all day and she won't pick up, he said she's probably with you."

Dammit Gem, "yeah," she chirps, "yeah we're at your house right now actually. We went to St. Thomas early this morning but they said it's just a couple of bumps and bruises."

"So she's okay?"

"Yeah, a little beat up but nothing she can't handle. We've been hanging out with the kids all day, must be why she didn't hear your call."

"Aight, good. I'm on my way to Cara Cara so I'll stop by there first. Don't go anywhere."

"Alright, I'll let her know."

"Thanks Lue."

Laura curses softly, hanging up and venturing back to the bathroom. She knocks on the door.

"Gem? Jax just called, said he's gonna stop by to see how you're doing."

The door swings open, surprising her, and she jerks back, covering Abel's soft head with her hand.

"What did you tell him?" Gemma's eyes are wide and glazed, a little off kilter and Laura has a bad feeling about that.

"Nothing," she placates, "you got in a car crash, we went to St. Thomas this morning but you're fine other than your face. He's just doing his job and checking up on you."

Gemma nods, releasing a breath, "good. Good."

She turns and pulls out a large, tinted baggie, "well here ya go Dr. Harland. All my lady juices."

Laura winces, "classy."

Gemma is showering when Jax shows up, Laura bouncing Abel on her knee while Moby eats his grilled cheese and watches yet another rerun of Spongebob.

"I raided your pantry," she says as he walks in, ruffling Moby's hair with a smile, "hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," he looks around some more, "Ma in the shower?"

"Yeah, she should be out soon."

Jax nods and takes a seat beside her, leaning into the back of the couch with a relaxed groan. Abel sees him and reaches his pudgy arms out, fingers scratching at the air. Laura feels something in her toes at the sight of Jax taking him, swooping him into the air and pressing him to his chest.

"Hey little man," he glances at her, a glint in his eye, "hope you're being good. This is a good friend of Daddy's."

To her horror she feels her cheeks heat up in a blush, and she avoids his eyes in favor of Abel's.

"He's been very good. He's really quiet."

"I don't know why," Jax chuckles, "look at his parents."

"They're not so bad, I mean, considering one them is a real pain in the ass."

"C'mon now," he winks, "don't get down on Wendy, she's doing her best."

Laura feels the smile coming on, and she looks up at him, nearly pulling back when she sees how close they are. She can smell his gum. Mint.

"Oh no," she teases, "Wendy is great. It's her ex, he's a real dickhead."

"Yeah," he laughs, "hope I never have to meet him."

 _I'm glad I did_ , she thinks, and in a breif moment of being brave (after all, she told Gemma all her feelings the night previous) she's ready to voice those thoughts. Her mouth opens.

But so does the bathroom door.

She and Jax seems to jerk back at the same time, Abel grinning at the sudden motion, oblivious to the reason it happened. Laura looks up and Jax stands at the sight of his mother. Her hair is damp, but dressed and clean she looks worlds better than before. Still beat up though.

"Jesus," he sighs, setting a hand on her shoulder. She flinches a tad and Jax dips his head to get a better look at her.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she pulls Abel from his grip, stepping over Moby's toys to get to the kitchen, otherwise known as the farthest possible place from Jax.

"Just a bit skittish still," Gemma gives him a reassuring smile, "don't worry about me baby."

Laura watches the interaction, deciding the best thing would be for her to leave now, give Gemma space, and besides, she needs to make sure Lowell is okay. Just because he's allowed to drink doesn't mean he should.

"Hey Gem," she stands, brushing her jeans for no real reason, "I gotta get home, you good here on your own?"

"Yeah, fine," she jerks her head at Jax, "and shouldn't you be going over to Porn paradise?"

Jax rolls his eyes, "yeah, guess I'll get out of here too. I should be back tonight but if not call Neeta."

Gemma assures him she doesn't mind watching the baby, all while Laura gets Moby's shoes on and practically forces him to put his toys away. Jax waits for her by the door, to walk her out, and that causes stupid butterflies to start slipping around in her stomach again.

Moby hops in the back and she settles in the front seat, Jax holding the car door open for her, bent at the middle to make eye contact. She smiles at him, just because she wants to, and feels stupid at not being able to handle herself.

"I wanted to say thanks," he says, "and not just becuase you helped out my mom today. Last night...shit I don't know," he runs a hand down his face, "you've been helping me too."

"It's no problem," she shrugs, "really I-"

His kiss on her cheek, hand on her knee but her mouth clacks shut as if they had been in different places. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing softly against her cheek before he leans back and she's left breathless.

"You got my number, don't hesitate to call for anything, aright?"

"Yeah," she swallows, "yeah of course."

He closes the door for her, giving her a wave as he saunters off to his bike. She starts her car, but by the time she's fully regained her bearings to drive again, he's already gone, just the noise of the engine hanging in the air.

 _Harland, you are in so much trouble._

* * *

Disgusting.

Degrading really. Just fucking wrong.

AJ Weston tucks his youngest son into bed and exits the room, eyes set heavy as he reaches the kitchen and pulls a shitty, cheap brew from the fridge. He hates having to explain things more than once, but with children that is a necessity he's slowly coming to terms with. He considers his boys very well behaved, but even they don't posses the maturity he had at their age. He can't blame them, times now are much worse than thirty years ago.

Thirty years ago, no respectable white family would hire a black woman to take care of their children. Any baseball team that cost money to put your children in, would not pass trophies out to losers. It wouldn't let losers join period, and certainly not little brown boys.

Yet that Teller family has a nigger nanny, and he had to take his sons out of t-ball. He can hardly believe it, this world is coming to shit.

Weston takes a pull of his beer, sitting in his fathers old wicker chair, listening to the wood groan. He doesn't condone violence against women, he believes that's the lowest a man can go, however 'woman ' is a very simple term to him. Man is also a simple term to him. Women who act like dogs, who have skin like dogs, are not women. Women like Gemma Teller-Morrow, who wear obscene clothing and say obscene things, are not women. They're closer to men really, and Weston has no qualms about hitting men.

But even he has to admit she is a looker. Long legs, tits hanging out all day and night, those lips. God gave her those lips for one reason. Weston at first didn't want anything to do with what he planned for that night in the warehouse, but then he saw her there, hanging and wiggling like a vixen. Well he couldn't help himself. Besides, he saw the way she was looking at him, she wanted it, he would bet she even liked it.

That's probably why she didn't tell anyone yet, she's ashamed of her infidelity. Weston had laid in bed all night the day before he executed the plan, thinking of ways to unravel that pathetic excuse of a biker gang called SAMCRO. He had laid and pondered and decided the only way to hurt himself was to hurt his mother or his children. Well Weston wasn't going to hurt innocent children, and he couldn't attack SAMCRO now.

So that left one option, and Gemma was a mother to them all, even if they didn't notice it. He had thought again, he couldnt kill her, couldn't make a rat out of her, how else does one send a message?

When he was ten, his father took him hunting in the woods behind his home. They were setting snares in raspberry bushes, and leavening the entrails of hares and squirrels on the paw prints of bears. Weston thought it was disgusting, and when he asked his father why, he answered with advice that would help him decades later.

To kill an animal, you must think like an animal. And that's what Weston did.

He thought, at least if Gemma Teller-Morrow wouldn't spill the beans about her rape (that's what it was unfortunately) then perhaps the old police chief would. He seemed like squealer.

Yet nothing happened. The only blowback he's gotten lately is from the meth he ordered Darby to push into Charming. There have been no outraged men, no unraveling clubs. Without that, Weston cant instigate. He can't strike.

He would need to send a more obvious message. That much was clear. He toys with the idea of picking up Gemma Teller-Morrow again, but that would cruel and pointless. Then he considers the pretty blonde slip he notices Jackson Teller visits frequently. He has only ever watched her for fun, he likes the way she walks, all swaying hips. But, she has a son, and if she's made of the same material as Gemma, then she too would be pointless.

AJ Weston knows his next attack needs to be upfront, in their faces, something bloody.

He smiles.


End file.
